


Like the Summer Birds

by Setari



Series: Trapped in the Amber [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Missouri Moseley, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Family Drama, Family Feels, Id Fic, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Moral Dilemmas, Next Generation Winchesters (Supernatural), Not Canon Compliant from Season 9 onwards, Original Character-centric, POV Original Character, Polyamory, Queer Character, Social Networking, Tags May Change, Time Travel Fix-It, original lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 101,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29052966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setari/pseuds/Setari
Summary: Stuck in the past with no way home, Meira Winchester has spent the last half a year travelling with the younger versions of her father and uncle, getting her feet back under her and getting used to having her grace bound beneath her skin. The world is a much vaster place when she can't cross the globe in the blink of an eye, but she's determined that it's not going to be a lonelier place. Of course, with the apocalypse about to start rolling in, nothing is going to be easy, not even making friends.
Relationships: Castiel/Gabriel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester & Original Female Character(s), Supernatural (TV) Characters/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Trapped in the Amber [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2111172
Comments: 84
Kudos: 35





	1. Blazing out of All Control

**Author's Note:**

> (Story title from the song 'There Can Be Miracles' from the movie The Prince of Egypt.)
> 
> (Chapter title is paraphrased from the song 'Hellfire' from the movie The Hunchback of Notre Dame.)

**Cape Girardeau, Missouri – Sunday 30 th April 2006**

Meira is honestly curious about this job. Her dad did mention it once or twice, if only for the sheer novelty of the fact he once hunted a ghost _truck_ , but he never gave many details, so it’ll be interesting to watch the case unfold in person. She’s also a little bit curious about this ex-girlfriend of his. In the future, he’s always very blasé about it, but here in the past, he’s actually _awkward_ when Sam asks after her. Shifty and uncomfortable.

It’s even worse when he’s confronted with her in person. Such a charged silence hangs between them even before they manage to say hello. Meira’s a little tempted to start whistling obnoxiously, or to ask them if they need a minute alone. But then Dean remembers all by himself to introduce them. “This is my brother, Sam, and a… family friend, Meira.” He introduces.

It takes Cassie, and that name will never cease to make Meira do a double-take given the circumstances, a couple of seconds to tear her eyes away from Dean. Meira holds out a hand, and Cassie shakes it. “Pleasure to meet you.” She says, just to put some actual words into the air between them. On impulse, she pulls up a flirty grin, even though for once in her life she’s not sure she’s actually sincere. Flirting with the same person her dad is flirting with is funny, but flirting with someone he’s actually had sex with is a little uncomfortable. This is entirely meant to provoke Dean into being less _weird_ and awkward about the situation. “Dean failed to mention you’re a journalist. I like it.”

Cassie does a small double-take. “Wow, deja vu.” She says, looking between Meira and Dean. “Are you sure you two aren’t related or something?” She asks suspiciously.

Sam snickers. “They’re like two peas in a pod, aren’t they?” He asks, clearly glad someone else has noticed it, too.

“That was just about the exact same thing Dean said to me when I told him what I was studying. ‘Journalism? _Nice_.’” Cassie says, putting on a deeper voice that makes Dean clear his throat self-consciously. “With the same grin and everything.”

“You should see the catfights they get into over who gets to flirt with the cute waitresses.” Sam tells her, in a deadpan that’s ruined by the mocking smirk that keeps threatening to unfurl across his lips.

Cassie smirks back with a knowing, if slightly peeved, look about her as she nods. Then she glances at Meira and the smirk becomes a grimace. “You maybe want to tone it down, though, around here.” She warns, with a hint of bitterness. “It’s not the most open-minded place in the world.”

Meira opens her mouth, but words fail to emerge. Right. She’s in 2006, and people like Sue-Ann are far more common than she’s used to. Or at least, they’re more confident that their views are acceptable and they don’t feel the need to keep it to themselves and let people be. “Right.” She says aloud, matching Cassie’s grimace.

Cassie’s smile is sympathetic. “Give me a few minutes to finish up here, and then I’ll… fill you in on what’s been happening, I guess.” She says, smiling falling away.

“Sounds good.” Dean says. “I’m, uh… sorry about your dad.”

“Yeah.” Cassie replies. “Me too.”

With that said, they head back outside to let Cassie finish her work in peace, then follow her back to her mother’s place to talk. Cassie explains the situation, tells them about her father’s ‘hallucinations’, describes the crash sites. Sam looks sceptical through most of it. “And you think this vanishing truck ran them off the road?” He asks, not actually managing to conceal the note of incredulity in his voice.

Cassie huffs and looks away. “When you say it aloud like that…”

“Could be a rogue klabautermann.” Meira pipes up, eyes locked on Sam, because he has no right to be sceptical given his entire life. He raises his eyebrows right back, not even a little abashed.

“A… I’m sorry, a what?” Cassie asks.

“Ship spirits.” Dean tells her.

“If enough people live in and love a vehicle long enough, it can create a sort of… pseudo-soul. It’s a sub-type of poltergeist, actually, a manifestation of positive energy coalescing into an entity with enough intent to be noticeable.” Meira explains, glancing away from Sam to look at Cassie. “In olden times, it was most commonly noticed in ships, which is where the myths originate, but it can happen in any mobile dwelling.” She glances at Dean. “The Impala will probably develop one, sooner or later.” She tells him, like it’s just a theory, and not something she knows for a fact. Dean pulls a face like he’s not sure whether to be happy about that or not.

Cassie stares at her for a long moment. “Why not stationary dwellings?” She asks finally.

“Oh, they can develop their own spirits, too. Poltergeists being the most noticeable. But there is a specific sort of… agency that comes with mobility that makes klabautermanns distinct from other manifestations and household spirits.” Meira tells her cheerfully.

“Right.” Cassie says, looking overwhelmed. “Listen, I’m a little sceptical about this… ghost stuff, or… whatever it is you guys are into.” She admits awkwardly.

Dean huffs out a bitter laugh. “Sceptical.” He repeats with mocking humour. “If I remember rightly you said I was nuts.” It’s an accusation, thrown down like a gauntlet. Meira catches Sam’s gaze as they forget the earlier attrition in a moment of fellow-feeling at the return of the awkward. Thankfully, the moment is broken when Cassie’s mother gets home, though Dean’s attempt to get more information out of her fails spectacularly, and after a little more awkwardness, they head out to find motel rooms for the night.

* * *

**Cape Girardeau, Missouri – Monday 1 st  May 2006 **

Someone else dies during the night. Going to check out the crash site feels like a waste of time, to Meira, but she can’t think of what else to do. She wishes her dad had been a little less sparing with the details, so that maybe she’d be able to help a little more, but right now she just feels useless. It’s all well and good figuring out that she _can_ heal people, if the need is dire enough, but what good does it do when they’re already dead by the time she gets there? She can’t even do much of anything to help stop the thing that’s killing them.

A few questions to Cassie tell them where to find the dead man’s friends, and after some debate, Sam and Dean decide to use the Insurance Company lie. “You two go ahead, I want to do a little bit of research.” Meira tells them while they’re digging out their suits.

“You don’t wanna tag along?” Dean asks, all mock surprise.

“Insurance Agents working in pairs makes sense. Three’s a crowd.” Meira points out, flopping down on one of the beds and stealing Sam’s laptop. Sam ribs Dean about Cassie while they get dressed, and Meira has to muffle her snickers with her hand. It’s so _weird_ seeing her dad like this, and it makes him seem so very _young_. It’s a world away from the man he’ll become, secure in the life he’s built with his two partners. Those thoughts make her mood drop, but she doesn’t let it show until Sam and Dean are out the door.

What the hell has she been _doing_ these last six months? Sure, tagging along with her dad and her uncle is kind of fun, in a touristy sort of way, getting a glimpse of the past she’s only ever heard them talk about in snatches. But this isn’t her place, and she wants to go home. She hasn’t even been _trying_ to get home.

Not that she has any idea how to even begin. How does she research something that _hasn’t even happened yet_? Because the only way she can think of to get home is to fly there herself. There are no angels about to take her, not that any of them would anyway, except for Pabbi, and she’s not going to ask that of him. She could ask him to take a look at he binding, she supposes, but she’s not sure he could tell her anything she can’t sense for herself, which is not much. It’s woven into her skin, into her grace, so tightly that she can’t really feel the edges of it until she runs right up against it. Someone on the outside _might_ be able to tell her more about its origins, but she doubts it.

And besides, the only way she could get in touch with Pabbi without alerting the host to his presence would be to summon him as Loki, which has the unfortunate side-effect of being far more likely to catch the _actual_ Loki. As much as Meira likes her Uncle Loki, she doesn’t actually _trust_ him.

For lack of any other leads, Meira rings up Missouri. “Meira!” Missouri greets, sounding delighted. “How are you? How are those boys?”

“We’re good, Missouri.” Meira says, spirits rising a little just in response to Missouri’s good mood. “You? And how’s Patience?” She asks.

“Oh, I’m good, honey, I’m good.” Missouri tells her, and then sighs a little. “I don’t suppose you know, but I don’t actually see Patience at all anymore, so I don’t know how she’s doing.” She explains.

“Wait, what?” Meira asks, sitting up straight.

“My boy, her father, he doesn’t- We had a falling out, about two years ago, after his wife died.” Missouri sighs again. “I told him what he wanted to hear, not the truth about what was happening to his wife.” She elaborates.

Meira winces. “That was dumb.” She tells Missouri.

Missouri snorts. “Oh, I know that now.” She assures her. “But at the time, I- Well, I just wanted to spare my baby boy a little bit of hurt.” There’s a moment of silence and Meira lets Missouri collect her thoughts. “He called me a fraud, and refused to let me ‘fill Patience’s head with my nonsense’.” Missouri concludes.

“I’m sorry.” Meira says. Well, no wonder Patience hadn’t had much at all to say about her grandmother, except for the fact that she inherited her abilities from her.

Missouri draws in a bracing breath. “Oh, it’s alright, honey. I’ll know if there’s something wrong, my gift’s good for that, at least. And you gave me more than I could have hoped for, just knowing Patience is going to be alright in the end. More than alright. That’s all I need.”

“Well, I’m glad for that much.” Meira says with a sideways smile.

“What’s wrong?” Missouri asks.

Meira chuckles. “Do your gifts work even over the phone?” She asks incredulously.

“No, honey, it’s in your voice.” Missouri chides gently. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

Meira swallows and tries to steel her heart against disappointment. “When we were in Lawrence, did you… You said I seemed _caged_ , but could you…? I don’t know what I’m asking, I just… I’m trying to figure out if there’s even a _hope_ of me breaking this so I can go _home_ , but I can’t even feel it unless I’m pushing against it, and then I’m in so much pain I can’t-”

Missouri makes a wounded sound. “I’m sorry, honey.” She says, and Meira’s heart sinks despite the fact that she’d expected that answer. “I couldn’t even tell it wasn’t something you’d done to yourself for some reason, until you told me otherwise.”

Meira goes still. “Really?” She asks carefully.

“Mmhm.” Missouri confirms. “What are you thinking, girl? I can’t read your mind right now, and let me tell you, I don’t know how everyone else does it, living like this all the time, I just don’t.”

Grinning, Meira flops down on her back, feeling just a little bit lighter at this unexpected progress. “You wouldn’t know, since you’ve never met him to compare us, but, uh… my grace is almost identical to Lucifer’s.”

“You think the _devil_ did this to you?” Missouri asks, aghast.

Meira shrugs. “Maybe. Or someone else used his grace. I don’t know, I thought he was still locked up in his cage in Hell, but… it’s the only explanation I can think of. Even if there was some sort of spell to make _my_ grace bind itself, there should at least still be traces of the spell.”

“Unless the spell was a one-time thing.” Missouri counters thoughtfully.

Meira hums an acknowledgement. “A spell like that would be… extremely complicated, though. And extremely specific.” She turns it over in her mind. “To alter the behaviour of my grace like that, without leaving a trace? I think it would take God himself to pull that off.”

“Well, I hope we can rule out God.” Missouri says, very nearly scandalised by even the implication that God might do something like that.

“Yeah, Granddad wouldn’t.” Meira assures her, and Missouri laughs.

“I don’t know what I expected, given who your parents are, but to think-!” She sighs gustily through the last traces of her laughter. “I never thought I’d see so much irreverence in an angel. Of course, I never thought I’d see an angel, either.” She acknowledges.

Meira smiles. “Irreverence is necessary.” She declares piously.

Missouri tuts at her, but doesn’t contradict her. “Now, then. Tell me what you and your daddy and uncle have been up to since I saw you.” So Meira does, telling her about the asylum, about the half dead fertility god, about the faith healer. She tells her about Kat, who’s been texting Meira questions every now and then, and Meg, who will one day be something like a friend to her qaada but is currently an enemy, and Layla, who Meira managed to save despite the stupid binding.

“What about you?” Meira asks, when she’s run out of things to talk about, and so Missouri tells her a bit about her customers, her friends, gossip from around Lawrence. “And Jenny? How’s she doing?” Meira asks when Missouri mentions a potential haunting that turned out to be nothing but a draft and a cat stuck in the loft.

“Oh, she’s alright.” Missouri assures her. “She’s settling in well, got a job at the local hospital as a nurse. It’s difficult hours for a single mother, but she’s handling it.” She shares a few anecdotes about the handful of occasions she’s babysat Sari and Richie so that Jenny could have an evening to herself, and then has to say goodbye, since she has a customer coming for a reading soon. “Call again soon, okay, honey?” Missouri prompts. “Or better yet, make one of those boys call me, cause I’ve got some words for them. I told them not to be strangers, but have I heard a word since?” Missouri demands, although she clearly doesn’t expect an answer.

“I will.” Meira assures her, grinning. “Talk to you soon.”

“Soon.” Missouri confirms, and then hangs up.

Meira stares at her phone for a moment, considering what to do next. She’s made a step forwards, yes, but she’s got no idea where to go from here, either. It’s not as if she can ask the _devil_ what he might one day do in the future. If it even was him or someone using his grace, because Missouri was right, it could have been a spell to twist her own grace into doing all the heavy lifting, but… That would take a fundamental knowledge of her grace _and_ soul, and how the two were intertwined, and given that there are only three beings like her in existence? That knowledge is pretty much limited to God and Pabbi.

Sighing, Meira sits up and drags the laptop closer. She really doubts she’s going to be able to find anything useful to her situation on the internet, but maybe she can at least poke into the case Sam and Dean are currently working.

She’s been working at it for a few hours when Sam comes back, curiously alone. “Dean?” Meira questions.

“He went to talk to Cassie again.” Sam tells her.

“You mean he went to talk to her, or he went to _talk_ to her?” Meira asks, raising her eyebrows.

Sam snorts. “God knows. The cover story is he’s going to see if she has any idea why so many people connected to her family are dropping dead. But I kind of hope they manage to discuss their great stinking pile of unfinished business somewhere in there, too.” Meira makes an agreeing face as Sam starts stripping off his suit. “You find anything?”

“I hit the jackpot.” Meira says, and then spins the laptop around for Sam to see the scanned newspaper article she found. It’s some ridiculous puff piece, Meira didn’t actually care to read the article beyond the caption for the little photograph that went along with it. The photograph of a young man leaning proudly against the hood of a big black over-compensation of a truck.

“You found the truck?” Sam asks, bending down to peer more closely at the picture while unbuttoning his shirt.

“I found the truck.” Meira confirms. “But that’s not the good part.”

Sam looks up at her, then goes to grab a t-shirt and plaid shirt out of his duffel. “What’s the good part?” He asks, voice a little muffled as he pulls the t-shirt on.

“The proud owner of our monster truck? Cyrus Dorian.” Meira tells him. Sam frowns at her as he shrugs on his plaid and starts shucking off his suit pants and retrieving jeans. “Son of the people who used to own the paper our latest victim was editor of.” Meira tells him, and Sam’s eyebrows fly up. “And going by the tone of those old articles? Not particularly open-minded people, were the Dorians.”

“So you think Cyrus Dorian is our guy?” Sam asks, hopping into his jeans and then dropping down to sit on the other bed. “Great, where’s he buried?”

“That would be the bad news.” Meira tells him with a grimace.

“Oh, don’t tell me he was cremated.” Sam groans.

“I don’t know. No one does.” Meira tells him with a dramatic shrug. “Cyrus Dorian _disappeared_.”

Sam’s face goes slack. Then he groans. “I’m guessing that’s code for murdered.” He sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “So, we’ve got a _vengeful_ racist monster-truck driver. If we want to figure out where his body is, we’ve gotta figure out what happened to him. When did he disappear?”

“1963.” Meira tells him, bringing up the appropriate article.

Sam frowns. “1963?” He asks incredulously, scanning the article. Then he leans back, eyes narrowing at the laptop, although he doesn’t look like he’s still reading anything. Meira watches him, wondering what’s got his attention. “The guys we talked to down at the dock, they said that back in the sixties, there were a string of racist murders where the victims all supposedly vanished into a big black truck.” He explains, which, yeah, that’s got to be connected.

“Why the hiatus?” Meira asks. “Forty years is a long time for a ghost to stay dormant.”

Sam pulls a face that clearly says he has no idea how to answer that. “It would make sense, though, why the murders in the sixties stopped without the killer being brought to justice, if it was because Cyrus ‘disappeared’.” He points out. “If maybe, since the law couldn’t be trusted to deal with it, someone decided to take the matter into their own hands?”

Meira nods. “Except, again, forty years.” She challenges. “Forty-three, to be exact, almost down to the day.”

Sam blinks, and pulls a considering face. “Anniversary?” He suggests.

“Forty-three years isn’t exactly significant. Now, if it was forty- _two_ …” Meira says, and Sam gives her a very unimpressed look, to which she grins, unrepentant.

Sam sighs at her, shaking his head, and then shrugs. “Maybe there was some sort of triggering event?” He suggests. “Maybe something, I don’t know, woke him up?”

“Vengeful ghosts don’t usually _wait_ , if they’re sticking around to get vengeance.”

“Maybe it’s not vengeance, then. Maybe it’s just Cyrus picking up where he left off?”

Meira blows out a breath. “Too many questions, not enough answers.” She huffs, and Sam nods. When neither of them come up with any ideas for how to proceed, Meira throws herself backwards again to glare up at the ceiling. “Best person to talk to would be Mrs Robinson. If anyone would be able to tell us if Cyrus had a reason to be vengeful in her husband’s direction…” Meira says, trailing off pointedly.

“Well, then let’s go talk to her.” Sam says reasonably.

Meira whines. “No…!”

“What? Why not?” Sam asks.

Meira lifts her head to stare at him. “Sam. If we go to that house, we’re either going to walk in on a domestic, or porn. I don’t wanna see either. Do you?” Sam can’t quite hide his disgust, and Meira gives him a pointed look. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

“Okay, you’re right, but the job is more important.” Sam says reluctantly. He has a point, but Meira can’t bring herself to move. Apparently, neither can Sam, because they both sit there, trying to find the motivation to get on with the job and failing. “This is just going to get worse the longer we put it off.” Sam says into the silence.

“Isn’t there someone else we can talk to?” Meira whines.

Sam is quiet for longer than Meira expected it to take him to come up with a ‘no’. She sits up again, intrigued by the shrewd look in Sam’s eyes. “Sam?” She prompts.

Sam refocuses on her. “Okay, it might not be connected at all, but… remember what the Mayor said? About talking to Cassie’s mother about why he’s the last person to accuse of racism? If Dean’s right, and this all seems to be centered on Cassie’s family, then… maybe it _is_ connected.”

“It’s a long shot.” Meira tells him, making Sam grimace. “But I’ll take it. We can, ugh, go to the Robinson house if the Mayor turns out to be a bust. So, where does he live?”

They find his address and head off in the Impala. Sam gets less and less confident the closer they get to the mayor’s house. “How the hell are we going to get him to talk to us?” Sam asks. “It’s not like we can pretend to be Federal Agents or anything, he already knows we’re friends of Cassie’s.”

Meira thinks about it for a few minutes, playing out different scenarios in her head. “We only need time to ask two questions.” She says. “We don’t need a ruse, we just need him to open the door.” Sam shoots her a look, but since they’re already pulling up outside the mayor’s house, he doesn’t argue. They get out and go knock on the mayor’s door. It’s late, dark already, but there’s lights on inside the house, so Meira doesn’t feel bad about knocking.

After a few minutes, it opens, revealing the mayor. Harold Todd, Meira remembers. He looks confused, but like he’s trying to be welcoming. “You’re Cassie’s friends, aren’t you?” He asks slowly. “Sam and… Maria?” He guesses.

“Meira.” Meira corrects with an understanding smile.

Mayor Todd nods and smiles back. “Can I help you with something?”

“Why did you tell Cassie to ask her mother about why she shouldn’t call you racist?” Meira asks bluntly. Sam makes a slightly strangled noise as Mayor Todd’s expression closes off.

“That’s none of your-” Mayor Todd begins, but Meira cuts him off.

“Does it have anything to do with Cyrus Dorian?” Meira asks.

Mayor Todd’s expression shuts down in an instant, going hard and flinty. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says levelly, but Meira’s not convinced in the slightest.

“Look, Mayor-” Sam begins, all earnest reassurance.

“We don’t need to know what happened.” Meira interjects. “We can make a pretty good guess. We just need to know what happened to his body.”

Mayor Todd looks at her sharply. “Cyrus Dorian disappeared more than forty years ago.” He states firmly. “How the hell should I know what happened to him?”

Meira looks him dead in the eye. “I dunno, but you and Mrs Robinson are the only people we could ask. Everyone else who knows is dead.” She says pointedly. It’s an educated guess, but she catches the flicker of something like fear in the mayor’s eyes. “I don’t think that’s a coincidence, Mayor Todd, and I don’t think you do, either.” Mayor Todd doesn’t answer her, just presses his lips into a thin, angry line.

“If you won’t tell us to protect yourself,” Sam entreats quietly, “think of Mrs Robinson. If she knows anything, which I’m betting she does, since you told Cassie to ask her about it, then she’s in danger too. And Cassie. Just by proximity, if nothing else.”

“I don’t know.” Mayor Todd insists.

“Mayor-!”

“I mean that.” Mayor Todd snaps, and then sighs in surrender. “I was… a Deputy at the time, and I was assigned to the Cyrus Dorian case. No one else bothered to wonder about the… the murders of black men that had been going on before that, so no one noticed that they stopped when Cyrus disappeared.” He explains, with an old, tired sort of anger. “I did. I also noticed that Martin had been badly beaten by someone around the same time Cyrus disappeared. It wasn’t that hard to put together, if you gave half a damn what was happening to black people in this town.”

“And you confronted Martin about it?” Sam asks.

“I _asked_ him about it, to make sure.” Mayor Todd corrects with a glower. “But I already knew I wasn’t going to arrest him. He was _black_ , no way was he going to get a fair trial, but it was self-defence, plain and simple. Cyrus Dorian was a _murderer_.” He snorts. “And an arsonist. So, no, I didn’t ask where his body was, I didn’t care. Just so long as it wasn’t going to be found, and Martin assured me it wasn’t. That was good enough for me.”

“Arson?” Sam queries.

Mayor Todd huffs out a derisive laugh. “Audrey, Mrs Robinson, she used to be Cyrus’s girl, before she fell in love with Martin.” He says grimly. “The day she and Martin were supposed to be married? The church _mysteriously_ burned down.” He scathed, and then glared at Sam. “Twelve children died in that fire.” He tells them, almost accusingly, daring them to tell him he’d done something wrong.

“Do you think Mrs Robinson knows what happened to Cyrus’s body?” Sam asks wearily.

Mayor Todd shrugs. “I have no idea.”

Meira and Sam exchange a look full of resignation, and then Sam says “Thank you for your time.” to Mayor Todd and turns away.

Meira is about to go after him, but she hesitates, and turns back to the Mayor. He notices just before he can close the door and pauses as well, looking at her with raised eyebrows. “You may be in danger, Mayor. I would suggest staying inside tonight, and possibly staying home tomorrow, as well.” His eyebrows rise higher. Meira digs around in the breast pocket of her coat, and pulls out a business card. Once Dean had put the idea in her head, she couldn’t get it out until she’d made a test batch, just to see if they’d be useful. She’s not keen on them, just because it leaves her with no way to keep track of the people who have her number, but in this instance, they’ve come in handy. “And if you happen to see Dorian’s truck, call me.” She instructs.

Mayor Todd takes the card, and looks it over. It has her number on one side, and her name on the other, bracketed by little wing motifs. She couldn’t help herself, okay? Mayor Todd snorts at her and pockets the card. “Alright.” He says, in a tone that suggests he’s only humouring her. Meira isn’t surprised, so she just turns and joins Sam by the Impala.

“Business cards?” Sam asks as they climb into the car.

“Dean’s idea.” Meira defends, pulling a face. “I don’t like them.”

Sam snorts. “So, should we head to the Robinson’s?” He asks reluctantly.

“I think I’m gonna call Dean, first.” Meira announces.

“You know, if he’s… busy, he’s not going to pick up.” Sam warns her.

“Exactly.” Meira says, pointing at him as she lifts the phone to her ear.

It rings _almost_ all the way to voicemail, before Dean finally picks up with a groggy “Ngh, _what_?” growled irritably into the phone.

“I’m sorry, sunshine, were you _sleeping_?” Meira asks chirpily. “It’s not even _ten_.”

“Shut up. What do you want?” Dean demands.

“Do you think you could tear yourself away from your bed partner long enough to ask her mom where her husband dumped Cyrus Dorian’s body?” Meira asks. “Else we’re going to have to come over and do it, and that’s just a waste of time.”

“Dorian? Like, people who owned the paper way back when Dorian?” Dean asks, and there’s a sound of rustling, and a sleepy mumble of a question from Cassie.

“Mmhm. Also Mrs Robinson’s racist ex-boyfriend Dorian.” Meira adds.

“Oh, hell.” Dean grumbles. “Can’t this wait until morning?”

Meira glances over at Sam, who looks back curiously, since he can’t hear Dean’s side of the conversation. “I guess so. Just… keep an eye out, okay? There’s every chance that Mrs Robinson is next on Cyrus’s list.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean says, and then hangs up.

* * *

**Cape Girardeau, Missouri – Tuesday 2 nd  May 2006 **

Meira’s woken up at the ass crack of dawn when Dean bangs back into the motel room. “Dude.” Dean complains when he spots her head poking up out of the duvet. “I’m gone for _one night_ and you’ve already rented out my room?”

Sitting up and scrubbing her system with grace to clear out the sleepy fog, Meira starts undoing her braid, since it’s been messed up by her tossing and turning during the night. “Well, since you found alternate accommodations, we figured there was no point paying for an extra room.” She explains, and then grins when she spots Cassie in the doorway, peering in around Dean. “Hey, Cassie.”

“Hey.” Cassie greets.

Dean tosses a pair of jeans at the lump under Sam’s duvet. “Rise and shine, Sammy, we’re going swimming.” He declares.

“It’s _Sam_.” Sam grouses blearily.

Meira’s hands still in the process of putting her hair up into a tail. “You’re joking.” She says, even though she really doesn’t hold out much hope.

“Nope.” Dean says while Sam hauls himself out of bed, gathers up his clothes, and slumps into the bathroom. “Cassie’s dad and his friends put Cyrus in his truck and pushed them both into the fricking swamp. Thankfully, we know pretty specifically where, cause the swamp butts up just onto the old Dorian property, So it’s just a matter of getting a chain attached.”

Meira groans, because out of the three of them, she’s the one most resistant to infection or toxins, so she’s pretty sure she’s going to be the one diving into the fricking swamp. But, putting it off isn’t going to make it any more pleasant, so she climbs out of bed and gets dressed. When she pulls her tank-top off without doing more than turning her back, Cassie makes a noise, and shuts the door with a snap. “Um…” She says warily, while Meira’s doing up her sports bra. “Are you two…?”

“No!” Dean says quickly.

“I am _very gay_ .” Meira assures Cassie, turning back around once she’s decent. She’s amused to see that Dean has his hand over his eyes. She goes for her least favourite tank, the one that doesn’t have armholes _quite_ big enough to leave her shoulder blades bare, so she always feels like she’s going to stretch it all out of shape if she has to manifest her wings. She won’t care if that one gets ruined by swamp muck. “Hey, Sam? Steal the towels while you’re in there.”

“She’s just freaking shameless.” Dean adds to Cassie in a pissy tone.

Meira turns and winks at Cassie. “Just thought you might like to see what you’re missing out on.” She says, playing along.

Cassie laughs, visibly relieved. “Thanks, but no thanks.” She says, just as Sam re-emerges from the bathroom and throws a wad of towels at Meira’s head. She catches them and stuffs them into her duffel alongside a change of clothes.

“Alright, let’s go.” Meira sighs, hauling her duffel up over her shoulder.

They head out into the parking lot, and Dean pauses beside Cassie’s car to look at her. “I’ll see you later, alright?”

Cassie raises her eyebrows at him. “I’m coming with you.” She tells him.

“Uh, no you’re not.” Dean retorts, and Cassie gives him a look.

“Don’t go getting all authoritative on me, Dean.” She snaps right back, and then smirks with a hardness behind it that’s a clear warning. “I hate it.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Best case scenario, it’s just going to be disgusting. Worst case? This could get dangerous, Cassie.” He warns her. “You should go home, keep an eye on your mom.”

Cassie hesitates, looking away, and then glaring back at Dean. “If you’re right, I’ll be in danger no matter where I am. If this guy is pissed that my mom married my dad, don’t you think he’s going to be pretty pissed off that I even exist?” She challenges.

“Yes, which is why you should-”

“Oh, let her come, Dean.” Meira calls over the roof of the Impala.

Dean points at her without looking. “You don’t get a say when you go around throwing the whole damned world into the line of fire.”

Meira gapes at him. “The whole damned world is _already_ in the line of fire, or _you’d_ be out of a job. Fuck’s sake, if she comes, at least we’ll be around to keep her safe, and maybe she might just learn how to keep herself safe in case it happens again! It’s how humanity crawled out of the stone age in the first place, Dean.” She says, yanking the Impala door open. “Education. Sharing knowledge.”

Cassie makes an agreeing noise as Meira climbs into the car in a huff. She feels a little like a sulking child, which… she kind of is, but she’s also right and she knows it. Outside, Cassie crosses her arms at Dean. “I’m coming, Dean.” She says. “I’ll just follow you anyway if you keep saying no.”

“Jeez, fine.” Dean growls, and storms towards the Impala.

He continues to fume all the way out to the old Dorian property. Which, as it turns out, has been torn down and is in the process of construction. “Three guesses what woke old Cyrus up.” Dean remarks as he climbs out of the Impala.

Cassie pulls up a minute later while they’re contemplating the edge of the swamp. “Coin toss to see who has to go in and find the thing?” Dean suggests.

“Oh, don’t bother.” Meira huffs, kicking off her boots and pulling her socks off to stuff them inside. “I’ll do it. Go get a tow chain.”

“Let’s hotwire one of those diggers. I don’t wanna hook my baby up to this thing if I don’t have to.” Dean says to Sam and they head off.

Meira strips out of her coat, and then, after a moment of hesitation, hands it to Cassie when she holds out an arm helpfully. “Thanks.”

Cassie just shakes her head to dismiss that. “So… why do we need to get the truck?” She asks.

“We need the body.” Meira corrects. Cassie pulls a disgusted face and gives Meira an ‘oh, god, why?’ sort of look. “If you’ve got a spirit that won’t move on of its own volition, you can force it out of this plane by salting and burning its anchor. Usually, that’s its body.”

“So… you’re going to dredge up a forty-three year old corpse, pour salt on it, and set it on fire?” Cassie checks. “And this is something you do… regularly?”

“Yup.” Dean confirms, walking past her to hand Meira one end of the tow chain. The other, he goes to attach to the back of the digger Sam is driving over. “Wishing you went home instead, yet?” He tosses over his shoulder at Cassie.

She shoots a glare at his back. “No.” She says stubbornly.

Meira ignores their sniping, and braces herself, before starting to wade into the swamp. If she could use her grace properly, she’d be able to make herself and her clothes entirely impervious, and just walk in and walk out of the swamp like it was nothing, but no. The closest she can get is to circulate her grace _just_ beneath her skin, just where the binding starts to prickle in warning, which will at least keep any toxins that might be in the swamp out of her pores. Everything else, the slime and the muck and the silty water, she’s just going to have to endure. Gross.

“Hey, Meira? Your phone’s ringing!” Cassie calls after her when she’s chest-deep.

“Dean! Answer my phone!” Meira calls back, and then dives under. The water is cloudy with algae and silt, but it’s not _too_ hard to find the rusted remains of Cyrus Dorian’s truck, it just takes a tedious amount of time. She has to come up for air once, and that’s with her grace increasing her lung capacity to the optimal. Once she finds it, she attaches the chain, and then swims back along it to the shore. “Got it.” She says breathlessly once she’s surfaced and slogged her way back to shore.

“Right.” Sam says, and then waves to Dean, who starts driving the digger away from the swamp. The tow chain pulls taut, and the digger’s forward momentum sharply decreases.

“Who was on the phone?” Meira asks, going to her duffel and shedding all her clothes except her underwear along the way.

“Mayor Todd.” Sam says grimly. Meira looks up from digging a towel out of her duffel at his tone. Sam meets her gaze solemnly. “He’s dead.”

“Shit.” Meira swears, towelling herself off aggressively. “Sorry I took so long.” She gets dressed in a change of clothes and puts her hair up in a bun so it won’t drip all down her back. Cassie hands her coat back once she’s dressed, looking a little red around the eyes, like she’s been crying, and Meira offers her a sympathetic smile.

They stand around and watch as Dean slowly drags the old truck out of the swamp. Once it’s fully out of the water, Dean turns the digger off and hops down and goes to open the truck door. An extra gush of swamp water splashes out and he jerks backwards to avoid it and the skeleton that half collapses out of the driver’s seat. “Oh my god!” Cassie says, and abruptly turns away, hand over her mouth.

“Yeah.” Dean agrees. “Hope we can get all the pieces and nothing swam off with any of him.”

“That’s disgusting.” Cassie accuses.

“Once remains have entered the circle of life, they cease to hold any metaphysical connection to the previous occupant.” Meira tells Dean. He gives her an incredulous look, and she shrugs and simplifies. “It doesn’t matter if something swam off with parts of him as long as it ate them.”

“Huh.” Dean says. “Come on, Sam.” Sam pulls a face, but together they haul out all the pieces of Cyrus Dorian and lay him out on a pyre they must have built while Meira was in the water.

Meira fetches the gasoline and salt, and after a moment, offers the gasoline to Cassie. “Wanna help torch this guy?” She offers.

For a moment, Cassie stares, and then her expression sets and her eyes turn flinty. “Absolutely.” She says firmly, and twists the cap off the can. Meira grins, and together, they douse the bones. Then Dean strikes a match and tosses it onto the pyre. Cyrus Dorian goes up in flames, and in the exact same moment light floods the area and there’s the growl of an engine that sounds distinctly angry.

Cassie lets out a small scream, more out of surprise than fright, Meira thinks, although there’s plenty of both in the sound. The truck wavers like it’s behind a heat haze, one moment intimidatingly solid, the next ominously translucent. “Wait, so burning the body had no effect on that thing?” Sam demands.

“Sure it did.” Dean says, flippant even with the tense note in his voice. “Now it’s _really_ pissed.”

“But the ghost should be _gone_ , right?” Cassie asks, voice gone high in alarm.

“Apparently not the part that’s fused to the truck.” Dean says, and then turns for the Impala. Sam calls after him, confused, and Dean replies with “Gonna go for a little ride, lead that thing away. That rusted piece of crap, you gotta burn it!”

Meira looks at the physical truck, and then at their very limited supply of salt and gasoline, and grimaces. Even if they could get it to go up, there’s not enough salt there to make it properly purifying. “How am I supposed to burn a _truck_ , Dean?!” Sam demands.

“I’m coming with you.” Cassie declares, bolting for the passenger door and interrupting whatever answer Dean might’ve had for Sam.

“The _hell_ you are!” Dean barks.

“Can you _guarantee_ it’s going to go after you, and not me?” Cassie snaps right back, glaring at Dean over the roof of the Impala. Dean’s eyes go wide with dawning understanding. “This way, we make sure Sam and Meira get the time they need.” Cassie says firmly, and then gets in the car, slamming the door shut behind herself.

Dean glares at the sky for a moment, then throws himself into the driver’s seat and peels away, the spirit truck in pursuit. Sam looks to Meira a little desperately. “What the hell do we do?” He asks.

“We think very fast.” Meira tells him.

Sam gives her a look that suggests that was not very helpful, and then grabs up his dad’s journal. Meira looks at the truck, thinking. If Dorian’s ghost has latched onto it as an anchor, then burning it is the only _sure_ way to get rid of him, but they don’t necessarily need to destroy it in the blaze. Just cleanse it. She figures it’s worth a try, and grabs what’s left of the gasoline and salt. She starts with the driver’s seat, which is where Dorian probably spent most of his time, and then splashes the last little dregs of gasoline in a wide spray across as much of the truck as she can reach.

“You’re really going to try _burning_ water-logged _metal_?” Sam demands.

“Worth a _shot_.” Meira shoots back. “Unless you think Cyrus’ll be willing to move on if we ask him pretty please?” Sam pulls a face, and they each get back to their respective tasks. Meira spreads the salt around as liberally as she can, using up the entire rest of the canister, and then drops a match in the driver’s seat. Flames leap up and spread, but not far and only briefly. Anything flammable was degraded long ago by the water. Still, Meira hopes it might have been enough, so she whips out her phone and calls Dean. “Is it gone?” She asks.

“No!” Dean informs her, vehemently.

“Give the phone to Cassie!” Meira orders. “I don’t wanna distract you while you’re driving.” There’s a brief grumble, and then Cassie’s voice demanding to know what’s going on. “Burning the truck didn’t work. We’re looking for a different solution.” Meira informs her, crossing back over to Sam.

“What sort of different solution?” Cassie asks.

“Not sure yet.” Meira admits.

“I think I’ve got something.” Sam says abruptly. “But only if…” He trails off, and gets out his own phone. There’s a bleary and vague hello on the other end, and Meira abruptly remembers that it’s barely an hour past dawn. “Hey, Mrs Robinson, it’s Sam. Sorry about calling so early, but it’s important. That church that Cyrus burned down, where was it? It’s gotta be _exact_.”

“What…?” Mrs Robinson asks, confused.

“Please, it’s _urgent_. Cassie’s life might depend on it.” Sam tells her, and Mrs Robinson sucks in a sharp breath, before telling Sam to wait a moment in a voice that shakes ever so slightly.

“The church?” Meira asks, bewildered. “Why the church?”

“Evil spirits can’t pass over hallowed ground.” Sam tells her with a fatalistic shrug.

Meira stares at him, aghast. “ _Hallowed ground_?” She demands. “It’s not a _demon_ , Sam!”

“Have you got any better ideas?!” Sam yells back.

Meira opens her mouth to explain why exactly a vengeful spirit is different from a demon, and why hallowed ground only works on the latter, and only works on them _occasionally_ because humans are actually very bad at identifying and maintaining consecrated spaces, but then she stops. “It’s not a demon.” She repeats slowly. “But maybe it’s not a vengeful spirit, either.”

“What?” Sam and Cassie both ask in the same moment. Sam, however, is distracted in that moment by Mrs Robinson getting back to him and starting to rattle off an impressively comprehensive list of distances and directions.

“Cassie, can you see into the truck?” Meira asks.

“I don’t know. No, the headlights are too bright.”

“I need to know if there’s a driver. Can you see Cyrus in the driver’s seat?”

“Dean, can we turn around?” Cassie asks, and Meira hears Dean shout a very alarmed ‘what’ in response. “We need to drive past the side of the truck, see if there’s anyone inside it.”

“God damn it, _why_?!” Dean demands, but before Cassie can attempt to relay the question, or Meira can answer it anyway, there’s a sudden screech of tyres and Cassie yelps. “There, you happy?!”

“Ecstatic!” Cassie yells back. “No, there’s no driver, Meira!”

“Then it’s a klabautermann, not a vengeful spirit.” Meira says, and laughs with relief.

“That’s a good thing?” Cassie demands.

Meira doesn’t bother to answer, just hands the phone to Sam. “Hallowed ground, let’s try it.” She says, because now is not the time for explanations. Sam frowns at her, but obliges, and starts giving directions. Meira’s sure it’s all very dramatic for Dean and Cassie, but for her, she just leans back against a tree and breathes in the dew-soaked dawn air, still tainted by the scent of smoke and burning bones, but she doesn’t care.

After several minutes, Sam comes over to join her and give her back her phone. “The truck’s gone, Dean and Cassie are on their way to pick us up, and I let Mrs Robinson know everything’s over and Cassie’s safe.” He reports, and Meira nods. “So, if hallowed ground only works on demons, why did it work on the truck?” He asks.

“Klabautermanns are a subset of poltergeist.” Meira reminds him, and Sam nods. “Except, where most poltergeists are formed from concentrations of negative energy, klabautermanns are concentrations of positive energy.” Sam frowns at that, and Meira smiles faintly. “They’re a manifestation of love, Sam. Of affection given whole-heartedly without _any_ expectation of return. If you love a thing enough, sometimes, if you’re lucky, it learns to love you back.”

“No, I get that.” Sam says, but he’s still frowning. “But if the truck was a manifestation of positive energy, then why would hallowed ground work?”

Meira snorts. “Because it wasn’t hallowed.” She says, and gives him a chiding look. “Cyrus desecrated it when he _burned children alive_ there, Sam.”

Sam winces. “Right.” He agrees with a grimace. “So…?”

“Klabautermanns are poltergeists, so… how do you destroy a poltergeist?” Meira prompts.

Sam furrows his brow. “A purification ritual.” He remembers.

“Or…?”

For a moment, Sam looks like he’s about to say he doesn’t know, but then he pauses, considering. Meira waits, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Didn’t… didn’t you say something about cancelling out their energy with the exact metaphysical opposite?” He recalls.

“Bingo! Give the man prize!” Meira chirps cheerfully. “That truck was manifested from Cyrus’s unconditional love. The church ground was tainted by Cyrus’s jealous hatred. The two cancelled each other out as they encountered each other.”

Sam stares at her for a long moment, then slumps against the tree beside her. “It has to be that specific?” He asks, belatedly alarmed.

“Pretty much.” Meira confirms wryly. “I mean, there is some leeway, and if you can generate _enough_ of a near opposite, you can still destroy a poltergeist by just sort of overwhelming it, but obviously that gets harder the less specific you are.”

Sam nods and stares out at nothing. Then, abruptly, he says “I’m surprised Cyrus could love anything that much. It seems like his whole life was defined by hatred.”

“All human souls are capable of the greatest evil, and the greatest good.” Meira tells him, tired and sorrowful. “Mostly, we diddle about somewhere in the middle.” Sam snorts. “But that capacity is there inside all of us. It’s God’s greatest gift to mankind; the gift of choice.”

“You’ve said that before.” Sam recognises. “You really believe that?”

“One hundred percent.” Meira confirms. “It’s the most precious thing any of us have ever or will ever possess, and the most powerful weapon at our disposal.” Sam doesn’t say anything to that, just stands with her in silence until the Impala appears in the distance.

“I think I like the sound of that.” Sam says finally.

Meira smiles at him. “My uncle taught me that.” She says, knowing he won’t get the humour, but not caring. “I mean, my dads helped. Team Free Will. But my uncle’s the one who taught me exactly what it meant, how powerful our choices really are.”

“Yeah?” Sam asks curiously. “You don’t talk about him as much.”

Meira chuckles a little self-consciously. “Yeah, I’m a bit of a daddy’s girl.” She admits ruefully as the Impala pulls up.

“Hard not to be, with three dads.” Sam points out with a grin, and Meira snickers in agreement as they head over to the Impala. They get there just as Cassie gets out. “Hey, Cassie, you okay?” Sam checks.

Cassie takes a deep breath. “Well, I don’t think this ghost hunting thing is for me, but yeah.” She says bracingly. “Dean said you guys are probably going to take off today.” She goes on, tucking her hands into her pockets. “We already said goodbye, so I just wanted to say thanks to you guys, too.”

“No problem.” Meira assures her, and Sam nods along. “Hey, you should give me your number, cause these two chuckleheads are crap at staying in touch with people.” She adds, which earns an indignant exclamation from Sam. “It’s _true_ , don’t deny it.” Meira says to him. “And, by the way, Missouri wants to know why you haven’t called her yet. Also, call Becky. You promised not to drop off the map again.”

Sam hunches down, suitably chastised, looking one harsh word away from scuffing his foot like a naughty school boy. Cassie throws back her head and laughs brightly. Sam relaxes a little, but he still looks rueful as he offers Cassie a quiet goodbye, and goes to get in the car before Meira can rake him over the coals some more. “Alright.” Cassie says to Meira, pulling out her phone. They exchange numbers, and Cassie glances over her shoulder at the car before saying, far more subdued. “But don’t push too hard, okay?” She looks back at Meira with a knowing look in her eye. “Dean’s not going to settle down, and I don’t want to chain him to me.”

Meira tips her head and considers that, considers what she should say to that, because she’s proof that Cassie is wrong in the letter of her statement, but the spirit of it is still true. “He probably will one day.” She says finally, and then offers her own knowing little smile. “But it’s not your responsibility to wait for that day to arrive.”

Cassie grins wryly. “Exactly.”

Meira holds her arms out, offering a hug, and Cassie takes it, squeezing tightly before she lets go. “You would have made one kick-ass hunter, you know that?” Meira tells her.

“Mm, I would have.” Cassie agrees without an ounce of humility. “But I’m going to make an even more kick-ass journalist.”

Meira nods acceptingly, and Cassie grins again. “Just give us a call if you spot anything inexplicable in your investigations.” She instructs, and Cassie nods like that’s obvious, and then they each head for their separate cars. Meira slings herself into the back seat, and Dean drives them back to the motel to finish packing up their stuff, let Meira shower off the last of the swamp muck, and then they hit the road.

“So, hey, Sam. What do you want to do for your birthday?” Dean asks as they leave Cape Girardeau in the rear view mirror.

Sam huffs and leans back in the passenger seat. “Go to Disneyland.” He says jokingly.

“We’re only a couple days driving away from Florida, one if we push hard.” Meira says, taking him seriously just for the hell of it. “Could maybe even get there while it’s still your birthday, watch some fireworks, and then hit the theme park tomorrow.”

Sam sits up to stare at her. “I was joking.” He says flatly.

Meira shrugs. “Could be fun, but okay. It’s your birthday.”

Sam laughs, shaking his head and flopping back down again. “I don’t even know. There isn’t really anything in particular I want to do.”

That kind of breaks Meira’s heart a little. “Okay, then, I vote Disneyland just for the hell of it. Come on, it’ll be fun. Haven’t you ever wanted to arm-wrestle Gaston?” Dean bursts out laughing, and the next turn that comes up, he heads South.

“Dean, you’re not serious.” Sam protests, but he’s nearly laughing, too.

“If you don’t want to, you’ll have to come up with a better idea.” Dean retorts.

“We’re going to get arrested. Or did you forget we’ve been impersonating government agents? And Meira’s supposed to be _dead_.” Sam points out despairingly.

Meira blows a raspberry to show what she thinks of that. “I _am_ dead, according to what happened back then, so no one’s even looking for me anymore, and you two just need a couple baseball caps and sunglasses or something.”

Sam throws his hands up. “Fine! Disneyland it is.”


	2. The Innocents we Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from a poem in chapter 3 of a James Bond fic; [Polestar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11518554/chapters/25851801) by Only_1_Truth. "When will the world learn: we make witches from the innocents we burn." It's stuck with me for _years,_ long enough that I actually totally forgot where I first read it until I had to go looking to give credit for this title.)

**Toledo, Ohio – Friday 5 th  May 2006 **

“Meira!” The greeting is full of relief as Charlie throws her arms around Meira and hugs her tightly for a moment. Then she lets her go to turn a welcoming smile on Sam and Dean. “Sam. Dean. I’m so glad you’re here.” She adds emphatically.

“Yeah.” Dean agrees, giving her a hard look. “Meira said you needed a hand on a hunt?” He asks, a very clear note of disapproval in his tone.

Charlie meets his gaze and doesn’t back down. “Yes.” She says with a touch of defiance. “Meira’s been teaching me how to do what you do, and I’ve been learning judo and krav maga ever since the-” She nearly chokes, but pushes on stubbornly. “-the Bloody Mary thing, but I’m not stupid enough to try and take on whatever can do _that_ to a person without back up.”

“Do what?” Sam asks, clearly realising this is not a fight they’re going to win.

“Come have a look.” Charlie says, pulling a disgusted face even as she jerks her head back towards her house. They follow her inside and up to her room, where she shows them the cork board hung up on the inside of her closet door bearing a respectable attempt at a crime wall. Meira is ridiculously proud of her, especially when Dean gets so absorbed in studying the thing that he forgets to look all pissed and disapproving.

The pictures of the victims are gruesome, though. They’ve been very nearly shredded beyond recognition. “Claws.” Dean concludes, pointing out the places where it becomes clear that the wounds come in sets of four parallel slashes.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” Charlie agrees.

“Could just be a cougar.” Dean feels the need to challenge.

Charlie gives him a bitch-face to end all bitch-faces, one hand on her hip. “In the middle of Toledo?”

Dean raises his hands in surrender. “It’s possible.”

Charlie shakes her head. “That’s what the police are putting it down to, but the- the scratches have this residue in them, this black ooze. It’s disgusting, and I’m pretty sure it’s not natural. That and the only connection I can find between the victims is that they all visited an otherwise perfectly normal apartment building downtown.” Charlie holds up a finger. “They didn’t all die there, they just visited, one of them was a postman, for god’s sake, and then they were killed that night.”

“You look into the history of the building?” Sam prompts.

Charlie nods. “Only thing that really stuck out was-” She pauses, looking deeply disgusted, and starts again “A couple of months before you guys turned up here, the police broke up a dog fight that was being held semi-regularly in the basement. The first victim got out of prison last week.”

Sam and Dean exchange a look. “Sounds like a phantom cat.” Dean says.

“That’s what Meira said.” Charlie agrees.

Dean gives them both a look. “Are you done showing off, now?” He asks blandly.

“Depends.” Meira says brightly. “Are you impressed yet?”

Sam breaks the tension of Dean’s grudging silence by laughing. “Yes. So, purification ritual?” He checks with Meira, who nods. “And go in armed for jungle cat, because it’s going to try and claw our insides out once we get started.” Sam concludes grimly.

Sam and Dean go shopping for the supplies necessary for the right purification ritual, and Meira convinces Charlie to spar with her in the back yard, to test her burgeoning skills in self-defence. Dean comes out to judge them once he and Sam get back, and then Meira walks Charlie through the necessary ingredients to purify a phantom cat.

“Catnip?” Charlie asks, grinning faintly.

“Very good for keeping the phantom cat from just undoing all our hard work by shredding the sachets.” Meira points out, grinning back. Dean and Sam both snort with laughter. “And most forms of mint are good for boosting pretty much any spell you can think of.”

Once they’re done making up the bags of herbs and such, Dean gives Charlie a long look. “You’re going to insist on coming, too, aren’t you?” He asks wearily.

Charlie draws in a steadying breath, clearly frightened by the notion, but unwavering. “Yeah.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Please tell me you know how to use a gun?” He asks.

Charlie glares at him. “Of course.” She confirms, and then falters. “I haven’t been able to get my own yet, but I’m working on it.”

“You can use one of ours this time.” Dean sighs.

“Hey, Charlie?” Sam asks when they’re on their way out. “I just noticed… where are your parents?”

Charlie blinks, as though surprised he thought to ask. “Dad’s on a business trip, and Mom’s got this charity thing she’s volunteering for. She won’t be back until seven.”

“And what are they going to think if you’re out late tonight?” Sam wonders.

Charlie shrugs. “I’ll tell them I went round to Donna’s to study. It _is_ nearly finals week, they’ll buy that. And Donna will cover for me if they call her to check. She still feels guilty for nearly getting me killed that one time.” She explains, matter-of-fact and just a little bit smug.

“Alright, you’ve clearly got this all figured out.” Sam acknowledges.

They all climb into the Impala, and head for the apartment building the phantom cat has been haunting. “I know I don’t need to tell you this is dangerous.” Dean says abruptly, half way into the drive. “Just… Are you sure you want to get into this line of work? It’s not pretty.” He warns grimly.

Charlie sighs. “It’s not like I want to make it my whole life or anything, okay? What you guys do is… it’s amazing, but I’m not going to go road-tripping in search of things that could kill me. I’m just not. But I’m not going to hide from the monsters in the dark when there’s something I can do about it.”

“It’s not easy to keep hunting to just a hobby.” Dean warns.

“I’ll manage.” Charlie assures him. “I’ve been thinking I might become a therapist.” She adds thoughtfully, crossing her arms and looking out of the window. “Seems to me there are probably a lot of people out there who get really messed up by the supernatural and can’t talk to anyone about it. Maybe, if I get my credentials, you could start giving my name to people, if they need it.”

“Dr Jenkins.” Meira says through a grin. “Sounds good to me.”

Charlie sits a little straighter, looking pleased. “Alright.” Dean says, rolling his eyes at them as the Impala rolls to a stop. “We’re here, come on.”

They pile out of the car in the alley behind the apartment building Charlie points out to them. Arming themselves is a task when they have to make sure they’re being discrete, at least with the guns, the compass Dean happily just tosses at Charlie. As they turn towards the back door, Meira notices a pair of little reflective moons watching them from behind one of the dumpsters. “Heads up, guys.” Meira says quietly, nodding towards the barely-visible cat.

“That’s the phantom cat?” Charlie asks in a whisper. “But it’s so tiny and cute.”

“Wait until it decides you’re next on the menu.” Dean tells her grimly. “Won’t look so cute then.”

The cat hisses at them, and then the eyes wink out and it disappears. Exchanging looks, they head inside and down to the basement. It’s a large space, divided into a couple of different storage rooms, and Charlie checks the compass before guiding them towards the north wall, the three more experienced hunters arrayed around her like an honour guard.

The moment she tucks the first sachet into a crack in the exposed brickwork, there’s a deep, rumbling snarl, and a dark shadow launches itself out from behind a pile of boxes. Sam swears and swings his gun around to shoot at it. The shot makes it yowl and flinch, but doesn’t do any visible harm, although it does save Sam from getting disembowelled.

Charlie lets out a very high pitched “Oh my god!” but then she’s ducking around Dean and hurrying off towards the west wall while Meira jumps in to distract the phantom cat from Sam. It’s huge, just a little indistinct around the edges, like its fur is blending in with its surroundings, and it’s only cat shaped in general. The average person would look at it and call it a panther, simply because of the black coat, but Meira can see something very dog-like in its shoulders, something almost snake-like in the way it moves, little things that make it clear to someone with perfect memory or a good eye for details that this is not actually a normal big cat.

It swipes out at her, and Meira blocks the claws with an iron knife. It makes the phantom cat snarl again, and then it vanishes. Looking around, Meira sees nothing but her and Sam. They share a look, and then bolt for the door. They get there just in time to hear a crash and Dean swearing. When she skids around the corner into the next room, Meira sees Dean attempting to pull himself out of a pile of old boxes while the phantom cat stalks Charlie. She’s got her back to the wall, and Meira can see the second sachet tucked into the corner of a tiny window high up on the wall.

The phantom cat leaps, and Charlie ducks into a roll, escaping under the claws by mere inches. She comes up already running, while the phantom cat crashes into the wall and dissolves. “Heads up, Charlie!” Sam calls, hurrying after her while Meira goes to give Dean a hand so they can join him.

They catch up to see Sam holding the phantom cat off with his bare hands as it tries to take a chunk out of his side. Dean skids to a stop so that he can fire repeatedly in to the conveniently immobile target of the phantom cat’s flank. It roars and disappears again, causing Sam to stumble forwards as the pressure abruptly lets up. Behind him, Charlie’s looking over her shoulder as she stuffs the third sachet down behind a tower of boxes that look like they’ve been sitting there for half a century at least.

“Meira!” Charlie yells, right before Meira feels something slam into her shoulder blades. She topples, collapsing under the annoyingly real weight of the phantom cat and hitting the ground hard, arms up to protect her head. She’s braced to feel claws digging into her spine, but instead the weight vanishes, and Meira immediately rolls away, onto her back and then springing up just in time to see Dean take a swipe at the phantom cat with a machete.

“Last one!” Meira reminds Charlie, who’s still staring.

Giving herself a shake, Charlie nods and takes off again. The phantom cat is clearly aware that she’s the real threat, because it abandons its attempts to get past Dean’s defences and disappears as it turns, reappearing right in front of Charlie. She yelps, but her momentum keeps carrying her right towards it, and she doesn’t actually have a weapon in hand. She has the last sachet in one, and the compass in the other.

Before Meira can do more than start to lunge, Charlie surprises them all by throwing the compass with surprising accuracy right into the phantom cat’s open mouth. It chokes, thoroughly distracted, giving Charlie the chance to vault _over_ it and shove the last sachet into place in a small alcove.

The phantom cat freezes in the middle of coughing up the compass, bits of it wisping gently off into shadows that dissolve in the air until there’s nothing left, and the compass clatters to the floor, covered in black ooze and cracked down the middle.

Dean bursts out laughing. “Okay, okay, I give. Clearly you’ve got what it takes if you’re taking out phantom cats with a _compass_.”

Charlie blushes. “God, I wasn’t even thinking!” She protests, a laugh colouring her voice as well. “It was just right _there_ and I didn’t have anything else to throw!”

Sam snorts. “Come on, guys, lets get out of here.” He says, and starts herding everyone outside. Dean is still chuckling about it when they pull up outside Charlie’s house to drop her off. It’s dark now, and there’s a light on in the kitchen that says that Charlie’s mother is probably home.

Charlie pauses once she’s out of the car, then ducks down to look back in through the still open door. “You guys could come in for dinner, if you wanted.” She offers.

Dean snorts. “Bet your mom would _love_ that.”

“I can have friends over if I want, Mom can deal.” Charlie replies with a shrug. Dean gives her a sceptical look, and Charlie purses her lips. “Yeah, okay, it’s not the same as inviting Donna round or whatever, but, seriously, it’s not a problem. I’ll figure out something to tell her, if you want to stay for dinner. I’m getting pretty good at this lying thing.”

“I’m game.” Meira says, just to see if that will help.

“Of course you are.” Dean retorts, and Meira rolls her eyes at him. “Look, Charlie, I don’t want to freak your mother out, and you know she’s gonna, if you bring home two strange adult men, and _that_.” On the last word, he jerks his thumb over his shoulder at Meira, who makes an indignant noise that’s lost under Charlie and Sam’s laughter.

“Mom’s going to freak anyway.” Charlie points out. “Since she’s probably already seen me getting out of an unfamiliar car driven by two strange adult men. So, come inside and reassure her that you’re not, I don’t know, luring me into a life of crime or whatever.”

Dean sighs and opens the car door. Beaming, Meira follows with Sam right behind her. “But,” Sam says as they walk up to the front door, “we _are_ luring you into a life of crime.”

“Well don’t tell Mom that.” Charlie retorts, then opens the door. “Mom? I’m home!”

“Charlie.” The woman who greets them is tiny, blonde, and looks quite a lot like Charlie. “Who are your guests?” She asks, mildly wary.

“Oh, this is Meira, Dean, and Sam.” Charlie introduces, pointing to them each in turn. She offers her mom a slightly sheepish, pained smile. “You remember when I had that, um, that freak out? After Mr Shoemaker died?” She asks, and her mom’s face crumples into pained concern at the memory. “Well, they’re the ones who found me, helped me calm down, you know, all that.” She explains. “I ran into Meira again today at the mall, and I thought it’d only be polite to invite them to dinner, as a thank you.”

Charlie’s mother softens, although she still looks somewhat uncertain. “Well, of course.” She says, holding a hand out to Dean. “I’m Helen. Thank you for looking out for my daughter.”

“It was no trouble, Mrs Jenkins.” Dean assures her with his most charming smile.

“We could hardly have done anything else.” Sam adds, all harmless smile and wide puppy eyes as he shakes her hand next. Meira shakes her hand, too, and then they’re ushered into the living room while Mrs Jenkins gets dinner started. They chat about non-hunt related things, and then sit down to dinner. Of course, that’s when it gets a bit awkward, because one of the first things Charlie’s mom asks them is what they do. They don’t let it stall them for long, though, and Dean is happy to tell Mrs Jenkins that Sam is going to Stanford Law.

Sam throws his brother an annoyed look, but then gets dragged into talking about his college experience with Mrs Jenkins, which leads to her rambling about Charlie’s future. By the time they leave, it’s well into the evening, and without even needing to talk about it, they head for a motel nearby, although not the one they stayed in before.

Meira has _just_ put her book down and closed her eyes to sleep when she’s jolted out of her half-doze by a sudden, rapid banging on her door. Feeling alarmed, she scrambles out of bed in nothing more than a tank top and lady-boxers to open the door. It’s Dean on the other side, looking pissed.

“Sam’s had another attack of The Shining, grab your shit and let’s go.” He says, clearly pissed off about the whole thing. Meira’s gut lurches, and she obeys without question. Sam is clearly agitated, already in the passenger seat when Meira throws herself into the back, and on the phone with someone about a number plate.

“So, what’s going on?” Meira asks Dean as they head off. Dean tells her what Sam told him, with a note of tired scepticism in his voice that makes Meira feel uncomfortable. She gets out her phone and texts Charlie to let her know they’ve found another job, so they’re heading out, and their tentative plans of maybe hitting a shooting range together would have to be cancelled. Charlie texts back wishing them all good luck, and Meira flops over in the back seat, kicking off her boots before she puts her feet up so that Dean won’t bitch about the upholstery.

“Sammy, relax. I’m sure it’s just a nightmare.” Dean says when Sam gets put on hold.

Meira can’t help but make a pained, irritated noise at that, then wishes she’d kept her mouth shut when Dean takes a moment to glance over his shoulder at her with an annoyed look. But she’s started this now, and she’s not going to back down. “Don’t be disingenuous, Dean.” She complains.

“I mean it!” Dean protests.

Meira sighs and throws one arm over her eyes as if that might help her escape from this conversation. It doesn’t, so she slides her hand down her face instead, hoping to scrub away some of the sick frustration building under her skin. “I know you want to mean it.” She says wearily to the roof of the Impala. “I just don’t get why you’re so desperate to convince yourself that Sam’s not a little bit psychic.”

Dean doesn’t answer for a moment. “Because why would he be? Where did it _come from_? I’m pretty sure it doesn’t run in the family, or Dad would’ve _mentioned_.” He snaps.

“How much do you even know about your mom’s family?” Meira retorts. “And besides, sometimes it’s not inherited, sometimes a close encounter with the spiritual can wake dormant psychic abilities.” She adds, rolling her eyes. “Hmm, I _wonder_ when Sam could _possibly_ have had one of those.”

“Don’t be a bitch.” Dean chides grumpily. “This is just a bit unnerving for me, okay?”

“Sorry.” Meira sighs reluctantly. She’ll admit in the privacy of her own mind that it’s unnerving for her, too, but only _because_ it’s so unnerving for Dean. She really wishes it didn’t have to keep coming up like this, because it’s making her identify uncomfortably with Sam, and when Dean’s treating him like he’s got some sort of infectious disease she just wants to throw up.

The conversation is put on hold when Sam’s phone call picks up again and the numberplate from his dream checks out. “How far are we?” Sam asks stiffly.

“From Saginaw? Couple hours.” Dean tells him.

“Drive faster.” Sam retorts, and Meira seriously considers retrieving her book and digging a torch out of her backpack, just for any sort of distraction. She’s not sure it would be enough, though, to fully distract her from the nausea swirling in her gut.

“Can we put some music on? Something screamy and loud.” Meira requests. She really wants to drown out her thoughts right now. “Something with bass that’s gonna shake the car.”

Sam snorts. “You mean any of Dean’s music?”

“Not all of it is screamy.” Dean protests, leaning over to rummage through the cassettes in the glove compartment. Meira almost sits up to watch, because it’s kind of like watching someone use smoke signals or fight a woolly mammoth, but she can’t actually be bothered to move. A moment later, Guns N’ Roses comes on, and Dean obliges her by turning the music up bone-rattlingly loud.

Sam tries to turn it down. “You’re going to kill our ears.” He complains.

“Lady made a request, Sammy.” Dean retorts, gleeful at having back up in this fight, and turns the music back up. Sam looks over the back of the seat, turning incredulous, desperate, pleading eyes on Meira, but Meira just shrugs at him, the music too loud for conversation. Sam makes a disgusted noise that Meira can’t hear but can see on his face, and turns back to face the front.

* * *

**Saginaw, Michigan – Friday 5 th  May 2006 **

By the time they reach the address Sam was given, there are already police outside and a crowd gathering to rubberneck. Nosy neighbours are an excellent source of information, and Meira mostly just stands around, her hands in her pockets, reviewing everything her dad and her uncle ever told her about Azazel’s other victims. Because that’s what this has to be, she can’t think of any other way this could be connected to Azazel.

Her uncle once told her a story, the same year she’d talked a classmate out of killing themselves, about one of Azazel’s other tainted children who’d killed himself rather than live with the life that had been handed to him. It had been a harrowing story, one she’s not surprised her dad didn’t tell her when she was younger, as part of his fable about beating the apocalypse. And now she’s here, watching it play out in front of her, and once again, she finds herself stuck in the position of wondering what on earth she could say or do to convince someone that life is worth it.

Her eyes skate over the rest of the family standing by the front door, the weeping wife, a bystander in her own life, a victim of a more insidious sort, the stone-faced brother, another abuser, a tainted soul, and the son, wounded and vengeful, hollow-eyed and a little off-center in this tableau of grief. Meira tries to think of words, of arguments, because she will always believe that life is better, even than heaven, but she doesn’t feel she has the right to deny someone their rest, if they need it.

Sam abruptly walks away, and Meira startles, but follows after a beat behind Dean. “We got here as fast as we could.” Dean says as they catch up with Sam, leaning against the Impala’s hood.

“Not fast enough.” Sam counters bitterly. Meira, remembering her uncle’s story, can’t help but be glad they didn’t get here soon enough. Knowing what she knows, she thinks that Max has every right to do what he’s doing. It’s just the ending that she wants to change, if she can. “It just doesn’t make any sense, man. Why would I even have these premonitions unless there was a chance I could stop them from happening?”

“It doesn’t necessarily work like that, Sam.” Meira tells him sympathetically, pushing away her own dark thoughts to focus on Sam. That’s easier. “Psychic powers aren’t… they don’t have intentions, that way. They’re not delivered from on high in order to make you act. It’s just a deeper connection than most people have to the synchronicity of the universe. They don’t have a purpose. _You_ give them a purpose when you choose to act.” She shrugs. “Forewarning doesn’t always guarantee success, is all I’m saying.”

Sam sighs heavily. “It still feels like I failed.” He admits wearily.

Meira huffs a laugh, and Sam and Dean both look at her, mildly betrayed. “You’re not God, Sam.” Meira tells him, grinning at the humour even if it’s weighted with the solemnity of the moment. “You can’t be everywhere at once, and you can’t save everyone. Having limits? Being _human_? It isn’t a failure.”

That gets something that might be a laugh out of Sam. “I’m trying to have a pity-party here.” He snarks, half-hearted but good enough.

Meira punches his shoulder. “Psht. Waste of time. How is self-pity going to help us solve this and find whatever killed the guy?”

“It’s not.” Sam agrees.

“Maybe the guy just killed himself.” Dean mutters, but it’s half-hearted at best. Meira gives him a look, and he holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying.”

“I saw it happen.” Sam insists. “And that guy didn’t do it to himself, he was trying to escape.”

“Did you see anyone else?” Dean asks. “The car doors were locked, hard to do something like that without being seen.”

“Unless it was something invisible.” Meira counters. “Like a poltergeist. Or something that works at a distance, like telekinesis.”

“You think someone killed this guy with the power of their mind?” Dean challenges.

Meira shrugs. “I’m just tossing ideas out there. It’s not like we have a lot to go on yet, we only just got here!” She protests.

Dean nods an acknowledgement of her point. “And we got basically no sleep before Danny Torrence over there woke us all up. So let’s find a motel and pick this up in the morning. Check out the house, talk to the family.” He says, pushing off the hood and going to open the driver’s door.

“Dean, you saw them, they’re devastated. They’re not going to want to talk to us.” Sam says.

Dean leans his forearms on the roof of the car and the open door, bracing himself as he looks back at the house. “Yeah, you’re right.” He agrees. Meira follows his gaze. Given that everything about this makes it look like a suicide, it’s not like they can pull out the police badges and pretend they’re investigating anything, but that’s not the only cover they can use. “But I think I know who they will talk to.” Dean says, just as Meira opens her mouth to suggest something.

“Who?” Sam and Meira ask together.

Dean just smirks.

Meira rolls her eyes at him. “Well, I was thinking some sort of grief counsellor, maybe a charity thing working in tandem with the police?” She suggests.

“Convoluted.” Dean accuses. “And here I was so looking forward to you trying to pretend to be a nun.” He says it casually, and then grins at the stunned silence he’s getting from Sam and Meira.

“Are you- Dean, are you saying you want us to _impersonate priests_?” He demands incredulously.

“Yeah.” Dean confirms, and then, at the look on Sam’s face, he shrugs. “Why not? It’s not like it’s going to land us in worse trouble than impersonating federal agents.” He points out. “But, hey, not like you _have to_ , Sam. Three’s a bit of a crowd, and women are supposed to be less threatening, anyway. Personally, I think nuns are freaking scary, but-” He shrugs as if to say he’ll never understand people, and Meira snickers. “You on board?” Dean asks her.

“Oh, man, am I _ever_.” Meira enthuses. “Sam can be the grief counsellor. A church volunteer or something.” Sam gives her a bitch-face, but doesn’t actively protest.

* * *

**Saginaw, Michigan – Monday 8 th  May 2006 **

It takes an annoyingly long time to get together costumes that will pass muster, but they manage to be properly kitted out just in time for the wake. Meira practically bounces out of the car when they stop a little way down the street from the Miller house, before she manages to curb her enthusiasm and affect a more appropriate demeanour. “How are you enjoying this so much?” Sam hisses at her as they walk up to the door. “Don’t you think it’s… disrespectful?”

“Irreverence is my middle name.” Meira quips cheekily, and feels a pang when there’s no deadpan correction, because, of course, this isn’t her uncle, and he doesn’t know enough to be obnoxiously proud about the fact that her middle name is Samantha. “Besides, I probably have more right to wear this than half the nuns in the country. And that’s being generous.”

“Forget irreverence.” Sam huffs. “Arrogance is a better middle name for you.”

“It’s not arrogance if it’s true.” Meira retorts, just as Dean gets fed up with them and rings the doorbell. Jim Miller’s brother, Roger, opens the door. It takes a real effort for Meira to keep her expression bland and compassionate when she really wants to go all heavenly wrath on him.

“Good afternoon.” Dean greets with his most charming smile. “I’m Father Simmons, a new junior priest at St Augustines. This is Sister Frehley, and Mr Stanley, a volunteer at the church. May we come in?” The guy doesn’t look particularly impressed, but he lets them in. “It’s in difficult times like these that the Lord’s guidance is most needed-” Dean begins piously, and it takes everything Meira has not to break character and burst out laughing. Her dad has always been and will always be a _terrible_ actor, it seems.

“Look,” Roger says flatly, “you wanna pitch your whole ‘the lord has a plan’ thing, fine. Don’t pitch it to me. My brother’s dead.”

“Roger!” The dead man’s wife, Alice, chides from across the room. “Please.” It’s good timing, because Meira was inches away from telling Roger ‘your brother deserved it’. She bites down on the words while Roger excuses himself and Alice makes excuses and offers them coffee.

Dean takes her up on it, and once she turns away, he elbows Meira. “Dude, maybe try looking a little less like you’re trying to work out where to put a bullet.” He hisses quietly. “What’s your problem, anyway?”

“I just don’t like him.” Meira retorts sulkily. Dean rolls his eyes, and Meira elbows him in retaliation. Sam hisses at them to stop it as they follow Alice into a sitting room where she starts pouring coffee into fancy little cup-mug hybrids that Meira’s afraid to hold too tightly in case she shatters them.

Dean and Sam draw Alice into conversation, and she reveals that the kid, Max, was the one to find his father, and Meira jumps on the opportunity. “Perhaps I should speak with him?” She suggests, although it’s not really a question, and she’s already putting her mug down.

“Oh, thank you, Sister.” Alice says effusively.

Meira puts a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder as she passes her, and then heads over to stand beside Max, half leaning and half sitting on the windowsill beside the chair he’s in. “Hey, you’re Max, right?” She asks. He watches her warily for a moment before nodding, expression closed off. “I’m Meira. I thought you might like someone to talk to.” She offers lightly.

Max shakes his head, short and sharp, something that’s almost a smile twisting his lips, but it doesn’t look anything approaching cheerful. “No, I think I’m good, thanks.”

“Fair enough.” Meira agrees. “I wouldn’t much want to talk about it if my dad died, but then, things are different for everyone, so I thought I’d offer.” She rambles. “Your mom seems like she’s holding it together pretty well.” She adds lightly.

“Step-mom.” Max corrects quietly.

“Oh?” Meira asks softly. “Yeah, I suppose I can see that. She doesn’t look much like you at all.” She acknowledges. “What happened to your real mom?”

Max presses his lips together, expression twisting. “She died. When I was a baby.” He states, voice clipped, but not in a way that suggests a shut down, to Meira, just a lot of emotion he’s very ruthlessly suppressing.

“That’s rough.” Meira says sympathetically. “And it’s gotta make it even harder now, huh? Without that safety net to fall back on.” Max nods, eyeing her briefly before looking away. “Although, I’m sure your step-mom will do her best.” She adds, watching Max for his reaction.

His expression twists into bitter humour. “Yeah.” He says, like he doesn’t really believe it, but he’s willing to humour her. “And my uncle.”

Meira makes a sound that _isn’t_ quite agreeable, and Max turns to look at her with his eyebrows arched. She smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, sorry. I know that God loves all his children, even the wicked ones, but I’m only a nun, I don’t have to be _quite_ that magnanimous.”

Max snorts, then laughs, a quiet, almost rusty thing that makes Meira’s heart ache. “You’ve barely met him.” He says challengingly, but Meira doesn’t think she’s imagining the way his body language is opening up. He’s turned a little more towards her, and he’s actually looking directly at her instead of eyeing her sideways.

“I’m pretty good at reading people.” Meira tells Max with a conspiratorial smile. “Gift from God, I guess you could say.”

“Oh, yeah?” Max asks, not convinced, and still with that bitter edge.

“Mm.” Meira confirms, leaning forward a little to look at Max more fully, head cocked to one side. “Like right now, I can tell that you’re hurting a lot, but you’re also angry.” She adds, and Max goes still, wary again. Meira offers him a sympathetic smile, and picks her words with care. She wants to get her message across without shattering the lie. That would spook Max, and she wants to draw him in, not push him away. “It’s okay to be angry, Max. Whether he meant to or not, your dad hurt you with what he did. It’s okay to be angry about that.”

Max bows his head, then tugs his sleeve down to wipe at his eyes. “I don’t know why he did it.” He says, and it sounds almost bland, if not for the taut edge underneath. Meira figures he’s doing the same thing she is, picking words that he means, but can be entirely misleading with the premise of suicide, not revenge-fuelled murder.

Either way, her answer’s going to be the same. “Pain.” She says simply, and Max’s head jerks up. For a moment, his expression is so angry he looks murderous, before it’s shuttered. Meira understands. No one’s pain justifies taking it out on innocents. “That’s the root of all evil in this world, Max. Pain. I’m not saying it was right for your dad to do what he did, but even the worst atrocities are born in pain.” She pauses, and then decides she’s edging too close to admitting she knows the truth, and offers Max an encouraging smile. “Not that suicide is the worst thing someone can do. I know the company line is supposed to be that suicide gets you sent to hell, but I don’t believe that. I don’t think God would punish anyone for wanting to rest.” She tells him. Let him think she’s talking about his dad, but she hopes he’ll remember this if he gets around to thinking about turning his powers on himself. “Heaven is for resting after a hard life’s work, but life is still better. Life is potential, and death is an end to that, no matter where we end up afterwards.”

Max stares at her for a drawn out moment, then swallows hard and nods. He draws in a shaky breath, and tries for words a couple of times before he manages a raspy, and only half convincing “Thank you.”

Meira figures she’s pushed enough for now, so she just leans over and, making sure to telegraph her move and to watch him for any sort of rejection, puts a comforting hand on Max’s arm, before pushing off the windowsill and walking away. She returns to Alice, who’s talking a little stiltedly with Sam, who’s looking very earnest and nodding along with what she’s saying, but she falters when Meira returns. Her eyes flicker over to Max and back to Meira again, clearly wanting to ask but not feeling like she has the right.

“It seems Max is having a pretty rough time of it right now.” She tells Alice softly, sitting down on the couch beside her, in Dean’s vacated spot. Alice’s brow crumples with what could be concern, or could be guilt. “It’s understandable, of course, but I think it would really help him if you could remind him that you’re there for him.” She says carefully, watching Alice patiently.

Her lips tremble as she nods. “I will, Sister.” She assures her.

Meira lets her smile widen. “Thank you. And of course, if you or Max ever need someone to talk to, the church is always here.” She says earnestly. “Or, if you’d rather not go all that way, why don’t you take my number?” She offers, and Alice nearly falls over herself in gratitude as they exchange numbers.

Then they go find Dean and head back to the motel to do some more research. Meira, of course, knows exactly what to look for, but she isn’t sure whether she should tell Sam and Dean that Max is like Sam yet or not. Before she can make up her mind, Sam interrupts everything by getting a headache that becomes a vision of Roger Miller getting decapitated by a window. Meira has to try very hard not to do something inappropriate, like laugh. Somehow, that seems absurd enough that it would be right up Pabbi’s alley.

They pile into the Impala and rush off to save Roger, while Meira silently hopes to God they don’t get there in time. It’s maybe uncharitable of her or something, but frankly, she comes from a family of hunters, she’s an angel, she _kills monsters_ , it would be pretty hypocritical of her to condemn someone else for killing monsters.

Dean offers to pull over if Sam’s feeling sick, but Sam doesn’t take the out. He does take the opportunity to vent, though. “I’m scared, man.” He says quietly. “As if these nightmares weren’t bad enough, now I’m seeing things when I’m awake? And these- these visions, or whatever, they’re getting more intense. And painful.”

“Come on, man, you’ll be alright.” Dean assures him, sounding more convincing than Meira would have expected, given how hard he’s tried to pretend Sam’s abilities don’t exist.

“It’s not actually all that uncommon for psychic gifts to fluctuate in power. Especially when they’re new. Your body’s figuring out how to process a whole new sense, essentially. That’s going to be tough on you. Like spiritual puberty.” Meira adds brightly. “Do we need to have The Talk, Sam?” She asks very sombrely. Dean bursts out laughing.

“Oh my god.” Sam complains, but he sounds more amused than distressed, so Meira takes it as a win. “Still.” He goes on, laughter fading. “What is it about the Millers? Why am I connected to them? Why am I watching them _die_? Why the hell is this happening to me?” He demands, getting more intense with every unanswered question.

Meira resigns herself to spilling the beans. “So, uh, I may have an answer for those first three?” She offers tentatively. Sam whips around in his seat to stare at her, just shy of desperate. “So. Max mentioned today that Alice isn’t his birth mom?” She begins. “His real mom died when he was a baby. I looked it up just before-” She tips her head and Sam nods impatiently, eyes a little wide like he’s already figured out where Meira’s going with this. “His mom died in a fire. In his nursery. When he was six months old.”

Dean swears.

“It would match the pattern of your other visions.” Meira offers with a grimace when Sam doesn’t react past staring at her some more. “The first one being the demon itself, the second being its residual energy, the third…”

“Being someone else like me turning into some sort of- of _monster_?” Sam demands, looking sick.

Meira stares at him for a long moment, then smiles, a completely fake, bullshit smile. “So, that’s where you draw the line, huh?” She asks lightly. Sam blinks. “Baseline human killing people with _stolen_ supernatural power? Not a monster. _Psychic_ human killing people? Grab your torch and pitchfork!” Meira quips, and Sam flinches.

“You’re saying you think maybe this kid killed his dad and you _don’t_ think that makes him a monster?” Dean demands incredulously.

Meira’s smile drops like a tonne of bricks. “I’m saying your hypocrisy is _staggering_ , and we don’t know enough to know if he’s a monster! Sue-Ann was in a position of power that she was _abusing_ to kill strangers and heal without fully informed consent. Sounds like a monster to me. Max? We don’t know what the hell is going on here. If Sam up and killed someone would you immediately jump to ‘monster, must kill’ or would you think, ‘hey, maybe I should figure out why he did that’?”

“What _possible_ reason could he have for killing his own _family_?” Dean snaps right back.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe Daddy and Uncle Roger were taking turns fucking him every night.” Meira spits out, and Dean flinches, pulling a disgusted grimace at the notion. Meira’s temper fades as quickly as it came, and she sighs, tipping her head back against the seat. “Just because my dads loved me doesn’t mean I’m not aware that some people just aren’t that lucky.”

Silence swells in the car until they’re driving past Roger’s apartment building, and they see him walking home with groceries. “Are you going to be pissy if we try to save him? Since we _don’t_ know what’s going on here?” Dean asks, throwing the Impala into park.

“No.” Meira sighs, because if she _didn’t_ know what she knows, she’d definitely be all for saving Roger first and asking questions later.

“Mr Miller!” Sam calls as he lurches out of the car, Dean hot on his heels. Meira sighs again and gets out of the car.

“What are you guys? Missionaries? Leave me alone!” Roger shouts back, turning away and heading for his apartment building’s door.

“Hold up a sec!” Dean calls, breaking into a jog.

“I spoke with Max at the wake. I don’t know if you saw, Mr Miller.” Meira calls, cool and calm, in direct counterpoint to Sam and Dean’s more frantic yelling. Roger turns back to face her, scowling in annoyed confusion.

Sam and Dean slow to a stop at a reasonable distance. “Look, Roger-” Dean begins.

Meira cuts him off. Her temper is seething just below the surface, frustrated with the pretence she has to maintain of not knowing what this guy is. “Now, Max, he’s a very withdrawn young man, hard to get a read on, but as I told him, I’m very good at reading people.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Roger demands. It probably looks like just more of his aggressive temperament to Sam and Dean, but Meira doesn’t think she’s reaching to think he sounds a little bit defensive.

“We’re not missionaries, Mr Miller.” Meira tells him, coming to a stop just a little within the polite bounds of personal space. It’s a good way to unnerve people, she’s found. “Just children of God concerned about another child of God.” It’s always fun to play up the divine judgement angle, even if she can’t go full out the way she had with Sue-Ann. “Is there any reason you can think of for why Max flinched when I went to touch his arm to show my sympathy?” She asks, cocking her head to one side. He hadn’t, he’d been rigidly controlled in that moment, but Roger didn’t know that.

Roger just about drops his groceries to take a deliberately intimidating step forward, right into Meira’s space to loom over her like he thinks she ought to be afraid of him just because he’s maybe a couple inches taller than her. She’s really not. “I don’t think I like what you’re implying about me, _Sister_ .” He stresses, snarling the last word out like an insult. “I don’t care if you think you’re on some mission from God or what the fuck ever, you’ve got _no right_ to talk to me like that.”

“She didn’t say anything about it being your fault.” Sam says quietly. Roger’s eyes widen with rage even before they snap around to focus on Sam. “Feeling defensive there, Roger?”

“Of course I’m feeling defensive when a bunch of sanctimonious busy-body do-gooders come up to me in the middle of the night throwing accusations around!” Roger snarls.

“We haven’t thrown any accusations around yet, Roger.” Dean tells him, eyes narrowed. “I could start though. You’ve been whaling on your nephew, haven’t you?” He prompts.

“I’ve had enough of this rubbish.” Roger declares, backing away from them and not even pausing to collect his groceries. “You stay away from me, you hear me?” He turns away, looking over his shoulder as he heads for the door.

Meira calls after him. “‘But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.’” She quotes, and Roger pauses in shutting the door to stare at her when she smiles. “I do my best, Mr Miller, to do as Jesus Christ our saviour bids me. Perhaps you should, too.”

Roger’s face goes nearly purple with rage. “Are you _threatening_ me?!” He demands, wrenching the door back open.

“No, just a friendly warning.” Meira tells him, and then speaks a little louder, because she figures Max has to be around here somewhere, and she wants him to hear this as much as she wants Roger to hear it. “When you get inside, you should call the police. Confess your sins to them, since you clearly don’t care for God’s authority. Not that your opinion on him matters all that much to God, but perhaps he will accept the law’s punishment, instead of meting out his own. Food for thought.”

Roger slams the door shut and storms off.

“You really like threatening people with the bible, don’t you?” Sam asks, still frowning at the door.

“It just has more weight to it.” Meira says flippantly. “Most people can brush off ‘I think you’re a terrible person’, but ‘ _God_ thinks you’re a terrible person’? Packs a bit more of a punch, don’t you think?” She asks, making punching motions in the air to emphasise her point.

Dean snorts. “This doesn’t sit right.” He says gruffly. “I don’t like the idea of just not doing anything even though we know he’s probably about to die.”

“We have done something.” Meira points out, wondering if they’re going to have a proper fight about this. Because she’s willing to hold her ground on this one, even if it’s making her feel shaky just thinking about it. “We’ve given him a choice. Whether he lives or dies tonight is up to him.” She pauses, and then calls out; “Right, Max?”

Sam and Dean both tense. Almost a full minute ticks by, long enough for Sam and Dean to start looking unsettled, before Max finally slinks out from behind the corner of the building. Sam and Dean both tense, but Sam relaxes a moment later, and Meira elbows Dean until he shakes her, and his tension, off with a grumble.

“I didn’t flinch.” Max tells Meira, staring at her almost accusingly.

“What?” Dean asks.

Max’s eyes flicker to him and then away again. “When she touched me at the wake. I didn’t flinch. I _know_ I didn’t.”

“I know.” Meira agrees, smiling wryly. “You were a little bit obvious, though, about how much you were not flinching.” Max’s lips thin into a bitter, pissed off line. “Do we have a deal, here, Max?” She asks into the ensuing silence, because she wants confirmation from him. Mainly for Sam and Dean’s sake than for her own. “If Roger calls the police and confesses, you’ll count that as your revenge, and let him live?” She checks. As she intended, Sam twitches at the word revenge.

Max certainly doesn’t look happy about it, but in the end he shrugs. “I guess.” He mutters resentfully.

“I’m not okay with this.” Dean says loudly, glaring. Max glares right back. “Look, I get that they were douchebags, I get that-”

“No, you don’t!” Max snarls. “You have _no idea_ -!”

“So tell us.” Meira challenges. Max stares at her, trembling faintly. “Tell us what they did that’s worth a death sentence.”

“You’ve already got it all figured out.” Max says, then he frowns. “How? How did you know it was me?” He asks. He’s staring at Meira, so when she glances at Sam to see how he wants to handle it, he follows her gaze, confusion marring his brow.

“I saw it happen before it did.” Sam tells him with a shrug.

Max’s eyebrows rise. “You have _visions_ ?” He asks, sounding, unbelievably, _sceptical_.

“Are you telling me you _didn’t_ kill your dad with the power of your mind?” Meira challenges, amused, and Max falters, looking away in capitulation.

“We thought it might be a ghost at first. I didn’t actually see _you_ in my visions.” Sam goes on. “But then… then we found out what happened to your mom.”

Max flinches, a wild look coming into his eyes as he stares at Sam. “Why- why does that matter?”

“Because the same thing happened to my mom.” Sam tells him. “On my six month birthday, a demon came into my nursery and pinned my mom to the ceiling and set the room on fire.” Max pales more with every word, and starts shaking his head when Sam mentions the part about Mary ending up on the ceiling.

“No.” He says. “No, my dad was _drunk_ , it couldn’t have-” He stammers.

“Oh.” Meira says, heart breaking. “It wasn’t your fault, Max.” She assures him quickly. Sam startles, like it hadn’t occurred to him that Max might be thinking that. “I know your dad probably told you that, but it’s _not_ your fault when evil is done to you.”

Max nods jerkily. “So that’s how you knew? Because you knew I’d… be like you?”

“Yeah.” Sam confirms.

“What I don’t get,” Dean interjects, still audibly displeased by the situation, “is why you decided to resort to _murder_ . So your dad beat you up when you were a kid, you’re a grown man now, why didn’t you just _leave_?”

Max gapes at him, clearly struggling for where to even _start_ with that, when Sam snorts. Both of them round on him, looking incredulous. “Come on, Dean. He’s a grown man? He’s four years younger than you, and you _still_ jump without question when Dad tells you to.”

“That is _not_ the same!” Dean snaps.

“No, but you take my point?” Sam asks. “It’s not like it’s _easy_ to walk away from your entire life, even if it sucks.”

“It wasn’t about getting away.” Max says, interrupting whatever Dean had been about to say. Going by the look on Dean’s face, Meira thinks Max has excellent timing. “Just knowing they would still be out there…” He shakes his head, teeth gritted. “It’s about not being _afraid_.” He laughs and gives Dean a scathing look. “You think they stopped just because I got a little bit older? What? You think being able to buy my own beer comes with a little ticket that says ‘your father’ll stop treating you like his own personal punching bag now’?” He snorts. “No, it just made other people care less.”

“We care.” Meira says.

Max half-smiles. “You do, at least.” He acknowledges bitterly.

“ _We_ do.” Sam emphasises.

“Then you let me kill them.” Max says, nodding more to himself than to Sam. “You let me _end_ this.”

“ _Them_?” Dean demands sharply.

“You mean your step-mom, don’t you?” Meira asks.

“Did she beat you, too?” Sam asks, frowning.

“No.” Max admits. “But she- she didn’t _stop them_ , she didn’t _do_ anything, she just- she just stood there and _watched_ , like-” He stops there, shaking his head, expression twisted up.

“To bear witness to evil without taking action against it is an evil in and of itself.” Meira says quietly, and Max’s eyes snap to hers, near desperate for understanding. “That betrayal must have cut deep.” Max nods quickly. “But Max, how do you know she wasn’t a victim, too?”

Max blinks, and then scoffs. “Why would my dad turn on _her_ when I was _right there_?” He asks. “He loved her. He _hated_ me.”

“Because the love of a man capable of hating his own son is going to be pure and selfless and without any form of abuse, coercion, or intimidation?” Meira challenges. “Max, your step-mom is terrified. Even with your dad dead, every move I saw her make at that wake was born out of a desperate need to please the people around her. That sort of desperation could only come from fear.”

Max swallows and looks away. “I can’t- She’s a part of this, of all of this, and I- I can’t _live_ like this. I still have nightmares. I’m so scared _all the time_ , like I’m just waiting for that next beating. I’m so sick of being scared all the time.”

“Killing your step-mom’s not going to make you less scared, Max.” Sam says.

“And my uncle?” Max challenges with a sneer. “Are you going to tell me killing _him_ won’t make me less scared?”

“It might.” Meira says. “But it won’t stop the nightmares, and it won’t get rid of the fear completely. Scars like that take a _lot_ longer to heal, Max. It can be done, though, with time, and effort, and support.”

“What _support_?” Max asks, his tone scathing. “My step-mom?”

“No, I understand that you’ll never be able to rely on her.” Meira says, then shrugs. “I don’t know, I don’t think Dean would be happy if you came with us-”

“Hell no.” Dean scoffs.

Meira rolls her eyes. “But we know people who might be willing to give you a place to stay while you heal and figure out how to move on.”

“What, some sort of convent?” Max scoffs.

Sam makes a thoughtful sound. “Pastor Jim might be able to take him in.” He says thoughtfully. “He took care of _us_ sometimes when Dad was off hunting, and he knows about the supernatural, so Max wouldn’t have to hide anything from him.”

“I was thinking Missouri, but that would work, too.” Meira acknowledges. “So, Max, you wanna go live with a mind-reader in Kansas who can help you recover, or a warrior priest up in Minnesota who can teach you how to kick demonic butt?”

Max looks between her and Sam, incredulous. “You’re serious?” He asks in disbelief.

“One hundred percent.” Meira confirms, and meets his gaze. “I will not bear witness to evil and refuse to act. Not ever.” Max blinks, and tears spill over onto his cheeks. “Come on, Max, let’s get you the hell away from these assholes, okay?” Meira offers, holding out her hand.

Max stares at her, then looks over his shoulder, then back at her with something fractured but blazing in his eyes. “You were going to let me kill him, before.” He says slowly, almost like a challenge.

“I still would, if you’re going to stop with him.” Meira agrees.

Max hesitates, then nods. “I will, if you mean it when you say there’s somewhere else for me to go that isn’t with my step-mom.”

“Of course.” Meira confirms.

“Whoa, hey.” Dean says, taking a step forwards. “I’m _still_ not okay with this.”

“Hypocrite.” Meira huffs.

“ _What_?” Dean snaps, rounding on her.

Meira raises her eyebrows at him. “You’re seriously not okay with Max getting revenge on the monster that ruined his childhood?” She challenges. Easier to come at it from that angle than get into the whole specist prejudice going on here. “I thought you of all people would be able to relate.”

“That’s not the same.” Dean protests.

“No, you’re right. The demon only attacked you once.” Meira agrees, earning a scowl from Dean. “Besides, tell me you wouldn’t be _first_ in line to take this bastard’s head off if Sam had been in Max’s place.” She adds with a scoff to show just how much she _wouldn’t_ believe that.

Dean stares at her for a long moment, an expression on his face that Meira can’t read, and isn’t sure she wants to, before he throws his hands in the air. Max flinches slightly at the sudden movement so close to him. “Fine.” Dean huffs. “ _Fine_! But _you_ better stick with him and make sure that’s _all_ he does, got it?” He growls, pointing at Meira.

Meira rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” She agrees. Dean flaps a hand at her as he turns and heads back to the Impala. Sam hesitates, looking between them and Dean uncertainly. “Go, Sam.” Meira says. “You’re not going to want to see this, or it’ll make you want to intervene.”

Sam shakes his head. “I don’t know what I’d do if someone tried to stop me killing the demon that killed mom and Jess. I understand needing revenge.” He says, then follows his brother.

Meira looks to Max, who swallows, and then jerks his head towards the building. Meira follows him in, watching as he easily unlocks the door with his mind and then ghosts up the stairs. He’s still shaking, but he takes the stairs two at a time, desperate to get on with this. The door to Roger’s apartment opens just as easily, and they see Roger banging about irritably in the kitchen.

Meira leans against the doorjamb, arms crossed, watching as Max tips his head, and the kitchen window slides open. Roger turns towards it, putting his back to them, and walks over to peer out. As he leans out, looking out and down at the fire escape beyond the window, the window shrieks shut, and Roger’s head bounces off into the night.

“Wow, how the hell…?” Meira asks. Max looks at her. “Wood shouldn’t have been able to do that.” She says, gesturing.

“There’s this bit of metal on the outside. Reinforcement or something.” Max explains with a tired smirk that falls away almost immediately. He looks over at his uncle’s body.

“Still, cutting all the way through the neck like that isn’t easy. How fast was that window _going_?”

Max shrugs, looking puzzled. “Why?”

Meira shakes her head, still a little baffled by just how easily and cleanly Roger was decapitated by a _window_ of all things. “I just would have expected you to have to bring it down on him a couple of times to get all the way through, is all. But, hey, I stand by what I said about child abusers. It’s not a millstone, but…” She shrugs, then turns and heads back out of the apartment, Max on her heels.

“You think _God_ helped me murder my uncle?” Max asks incredulously.

“God doesn’t intervene.” Meira says with a shrug. “But sometimes he’ll give things a little nudge, here and there. Even if his head hadn’t come off, blunt force trauma to the neck like that would have killed your uncle anyway, but… you gotta admit, that was a bit more dramatic.”

“It was.” Max agrees. “I thought… I thought I’d feel better than this.” He admits softly. Meira notices belatedly that he’s still shaking.

“You don’t feel better at all?” Meira asks. “I know I did when my dad killed the fuckers that tried to hurt me when I was a kid.”

“I do, just…”

Meira makes a small noise of understanding. “Just not as much better as you’d hoped.” She realises, and Max nods as they step back out of the apartment building. “Healing takes time, Max, but maybe now, you can start.” She offers.

Max smiles, pained but also just a little bit hopeful. “You really think it can get better?” He asks, voice shaking.

“I do.” Meira swears. “The human soul is an amazingly powerful thing.”

They reach the car and get in. “Right, so, where are we taking him?” Dean asks Meira.

“Well, back to the motel for now.” Meira says. “Then tomorrow we can make some calls, explain where Max is going to Alice while Max packs his shit, and then set off to whoever Max would prefer to stay with.” She suggests, like it should be obvious, because, well, it should. “It’s way too late to go making calls now. Missouri would kick my ass right through the phone if I called her now.”

* * *

**Saginaw, Michigan – Tuesday 9 th  May 2006 **

“Oh, Max!” Alice says when they ring her doorbell the next morning. “I was so worried about you when you didn’t come home last night. Did you- You won’t have heard-” She cuts off with a muffled sob while Max just shifts uncomfortably and tries not to look at her straight on. “Roger’s- He-”

“Is something wrong?” Meira asks, back in her wimple and veil and feigning concern.

“Roger _died_ last night.” Alice tells her on a sob.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Meira replies, and Alice nods her gratitude, since words seem to be beyond her. “May we come in?” Alice backs away and gestures them inside, wiping away her tears with shaky fingers.

By the time they’re all sitting and have been offered refreshments, Alice has calmed herself and Max has vanished upstairs to, presumably, pack some things. “We’re so sorry to bother you at such a difficult time.” Sam says.

“What’s wrong?” Alice asks, frowning at them.

“Max came to speak to us yesterday, Mrs Miller.” Meira tells her solemnly. “He told us some rather concerning things about his life.” Alice pales abruptly and brings a hand up to her mouth. “I can see that he wasn’t lying when he said you were aware of what was being done to him.”

“I-” Alice gasps. “I didn’t know what to do.” She confesses in a whisper.

“And I understand that. I’m sure you loved your husband.” Meira tells her, and Alice nods desperately. “But I hope you can understand why we don’t think it’s going to be beneficial to Max’s future or his recovery to stay here, in the home of someone he cannot trust.”

Alice flinches at that. “You- you want to take him away?” She asks, wide-eyed and lost.

“There’s a Pastor up in Minnesota who’s willing to take Max in.” Dean explains with one of his fake-bright smiles. “Think of it as an apprenticeship of sorts. He’ll take care of him, guide him, teach him how to- to live with God.” He finishes piously.

“Oh.” Alice says, eyes filling with tears. She sniffs and dabs at her eyes again. “That’s- That’s very kind of you. I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be-” She waves a hand and then starts crying again.

Max comes back downstairs before Alice is done crying, but she looks up when she hears him enter the room, and her eyes widen almost comically at the suitcase he’s carrying. “You- You’re leaving _now_?” She asks, sounding very nearly horrified. Max just nods. The expression on his face when he looks at her is hateful. “But- Don’t you want- Aren’t you going to stay for Roger’s funeral?”

The look that earns her is scathing in the extreme. “No.” Max says in tones of deep disgust.

Alice hunches down a little, fretful. “But what will people _say_ if you’re not there?” She asks.

“Why should I care what people say?” Max spits, making Alice flinch. The chandelier-lamp overhead begins to tremble. “ _You_ never did when what they were talking about were _my bruises_!”

“And that’s our cue to go.” Dean says, getting to his feet. “Come on, Max. Car.” He orders briskly, giving Max a hard warning look.

Max takes a deep breath, then gives Dean a pissed off glower that is, at least, magnitudes less genuinely murderous than the one he’d been giving his step-mother. He lets Dean herd him out of the house, though, and Sam follows, after a brief farewell to Alice. “Will he be okay?” Alice asks as Meira is about to leave as well.

Meira looks back at her, and she’s sure some of her judgement must be showing on her face, because Alice cringes. “Why do you care _now_?” Meira asks before she can stop herself.

“He’s all I have left.” Alice tells her brokenly.

Meira sighs, feeling pity well up inside her. It’s not a kind feeling, and she isn’t sure she likes it very much. “If you ever had Max, I think you lost him a long time ago.” She says gently, because she knows the words are going to hit hard enough on their own. Sure enough, Alice gasps and starts to cry again, burying her face in her hands.

“I’m sorry!” She whispers to her palms.

“That’s a good start.” Meira says wryly. “Repentance is the first step. The second is atonement.” She reminds the woman. Alice shudders, then nods into her hands, which is enough acknowledgement for Meira. “I don’t think you’ll ever get forgiveness from Max, he suffered too much under your eye for that-” She goes on, and doesn’t feel all that bad when Alice flinches. “-but God is a different story. He loves all his children, Mrs Miller, even the sinners.”

With that said, Meira leaves. _If you’re feeling up for another miracle, Granddad, help her, because I don’t think I have the stomach for it._ She thinks as she heads down the garden path and into the back seat of the Impala, next to Max. Alice appears in the doorway just as they pull out onto the road, and waves after them as they drive off. Max doesn’t look back to see, and Meira doesn’t tell him.

“So, it’s a twelve hour trip to Blue Earth.” Dean tells them once they’ve hit the highway heading south. “Should get there…” He checks the time. “Eight or nine in the evening if we push on through lunch.”

“Or, since we’ll be driving, like, right past them, we could stop in Lake Manitoc and say hi to Andrea and Lucas.” Meira suggests, having looked at the maps this morning. “It’s about half way, and if we stay for a couple hours, we can say hi to Lucas after school gets out.”

Dean glances back at them briefly, before returning his eyes to the road. In that one look, Meira could read the war going on between his desire to have Max out of his car as soon as possible, and his desire to see Andrea and Lucas again. “Yeah, okay.” Dean capitulates. “You wanna give her a ring and let her know we’ll be passing through around lunch time?”

“Will do!” Meira chirps happily, pulling out her phone and finding Andrea’s number.

The phone is picked up after about four rings with a cheerful “Hello?”

“Hi, Andrea. It’s Meira.” Meira says.

“Oh, God, Meira, hi.” Andrea says, surprised but pleased. “Is- is everything alright?” She asks hesitantly, a touch of worry colouring her tone.

“Oh, yeah.” Meira assures her. “Yeah, this is just a social call, I swear.”

Andrea hums happily. “Good. How have you been? It’s been, what? Six months?”

“About that, yeah. We’ve been alright. I mean, escaping death by the skin of our teeth, but alright.” Meira tells her, making Sam and Dean snort. “What about you and Lucas?”

“That sounds exciting.” Andrea says with a touch of humour. “Lucas has made so much progress since you last saw him, you’d be amazed. He’s still a little withdrawn at school, I think how easily his friends drifted away after everything has made him a little gun-shy, honestly, but still, I never thought I’d see him this happy again.”

“That’s awesome.” Meira enthuses. “He taking Dean’s advice on how to woo people?”

Andrea laughs. “He’s certainly been listening to far too much heavy metal music. I thought that phase wasn’t supposed to start until he hit double digits. He even asked me for guitar lessons a couple months ago.”

Meira feels a pang that’s somewhere between joy and grief. Joy that Lucas is already growing into the person she used to know in the future, but there’s grief, too, at the reminder that he isn’t that person yet. “Guitar lessons?” She asks, mainly for Dean’s benefit. He catches her eye in the rear view mirror, and at her raised eyebrows, he grins proudly. “Good for him.”

“Yeah, I’m happy he’s learning new things, even if I have no idea how we’re going to keep paying for them.” Andrea admits, but she doesn’t sound _too_ stressed, so Meira doesn’t let herself worry.

“I could always teach him to pick-pocket-” Meira begins cheekily.

“Don’t you dare!” Andrea protests at once.

Laughing, Meira finally gets to the point of the call. “Hey, so we’re actually going to be passing right by Lake Manitoc on our way to Blue Earth. Would it be okay if we dropped in to say hi, maybe, around two or three?” She asks hopefully.

“Of course!” Andrea says at once. “You’d better stay until Lucas gets home from school or he’ll never forgive any of us.”

“Dean wouldn’t let us leave before then, anyway.” Meira assures her, making Andrea laugh again. “So, we’ll see you then, catch up properly and everything.”

“I’ll make lunch for five.” Andrea agrees.

“Six.” Meira corrects. “We’ve picked up a stray.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Max. He just recently discovered he’s psychic.” Meira explains. “That’s why we’re heading to Blue Earth, actually. There’s a guy there who’s agreed to take him in, help him out, show him the supernatural ropes, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, well, it’ll be nice to meet him.” Andrea says. “Maybe he and Lucas can help each other.”

“That would be nice.” Meira agrees, smiling softly.

“Well, see you soon.”

“Yeah, see you soon, Andrea.” Meira hangs up then, and tucks her phone away. “She says it’s cool, obviously.”

Dean grins again. “Awesome.”

* * *

**Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin – Tuesday 9 th  May 2006**

Andrea opens the door before they can ring the bell. “Hi, guys.” She greets warmly, eyes skating over all of them before settling on Max. “I’m Andrea.” She says, holding out a hand to him.

“Max.” Max replies, shaking her hand briefly.

Then Andrea turns to Meira, her smile widening a touch, even though there’s something uncertain in her eyes. Meira figures she knows which question Andrea doesn’t know how to ask, and if she’s thinking of asking, it means the answer’s yes, so she grins and then leans in to kiss her hello. “Hi.” She says once she’s drawn back.

“Come in.” Andrea says, a little flushed and grinning brightly as she beckons them all inside. “You’re just in time. I have to go pick Lucas up in about half an hour.” She warns them.

“I could go, if you want.” Dean offers. “Be a nice surprise for him, I hope.”

“Definitely.” Andrea assures him. “If you wouldn’t mind?” She checks.

“Nah, it’s cool.” Dean replies.

Andrea ushers them into the living room and gets them all refreshments, although she says they ought to wait for lunch until Lucas gets home, to which no one protests. Then they settle in to catch up. Andrea tells them all about getting work at the Sheriff’s station keeping their paperwork in order, and Lucas’s successes at school. When she asks them what they’ve been up to, Dean tells her the story of the judgey whore-killer ghost who latched onto a nice Reverend’s daughter, probably just to make Sam blush, since he took pains to tell her how smitten Sam had been.

“Hey, did you ever get your turn watching the cute girl’s house?” Meira wonders, reminded of the conversation by Dean’s retelling.

Dean looks thoughtful. “Don’t think so.” He says, pouting.

“There was Cassie.” Sam points out.

Dean scowls. “That does not count. I still ended up getting into a car chase with a killer truck instead of avoiding the dirty work to spend time with a cute girl.”

“Hey, I had to fight a ghost on my turn.” Sam counters. Dean pulls a face, and Sam snorts. “Or there was Emily.” Sam goes on, clearly just to be a little shit, going by his grin.

“That doesn’t count either!” Dean protests. “We spent the day together because we’d been _locked in a basement_ awaiting _ritual sacrifice_.”

Sam takes a breath, and then stops. Meira thinks back over their jobs, and, yeah, she can see why he doesn’t want to mention Layla. Andrea takes that moment to jump into the conversation, though whether she’s doing it deliberately to rescue Sam or not, Meira can’t tell. “You’re going to have to tell me those stories.” She insists. “Killer truck? Ritual sacrifice?” She shakes her head. “But Lucas’s school gets out in about fifteen minutes, so you can tell us once he’s home.” She adds, before anyone can take her up on her offer.

“Oh, shit, yeah.” Dean realises, getting up. Andrea walks to the door with him, giving him directions. Meira watches them go feeling ridiculously fond and a little wistful that she’s not going to get to witness Dean and Lucas’s reunion.

“I had no idea you guys were so…” Max begins quietly, struggling for the right word.

“Insane?” Sam offers wryly.

Max glances at him, almost grinning at the humour. “Prolific.” He concludes finally.

Sam snorts. “Yeah, we get around a lot, I guess. Side effect of the lifestyle. Our dad-” He cuts off for a minute, grimacing. “It feels wrong, now, to say he didn’t take losing Mom well, because-” He glances at Max and gestures, and Max nods, jaw going tight. Andrea returns then, but it doesn’t distract Sam from what he’s saying. “-but he threw himself into hunting, full-time, and dragged us along for the ride.” He pauses, looking thoughtful, then shakes whatever it was off. “So, yeah, we don’t really take breaks between jobs much. Right before we came looking for you, we had just got done putting down a phantom cat in Toledo, actually.”

“A phantom cat?” Max asks, squinting. “What’s that?”

“You know all those stories and legends of big cats being where they absolutely shouldn’t be? Like English moors?” Meira asks, and Max nods. “Phantom cats. They’re basically poltergeists, amalgamations of energy coming together to form a single entity with power and intent. Phantom cats, specifically, are made when a lot of animals are abused, or sometimes over-hunted, in one area.”

“Oh.” Max says, nodding slowly. “There’s a lot of this stuff I don’t know yet, isn’t there?” He asks.

“Pastor Jim will be able to teach you what you don’t know.” Sam assures him.

“And we’re always a phone call away, if you want a second opinion.” Meira adds

Max nods, offering a tight little smile to them both. Andrea looks at him with a measure of concern in her eyes. “So what’s your story, Max?” She asks. Max looks up at her sharply, then looks to Meira, who shrugs to indicate it’s up to him what he tells anyone.

“I found out maybe… seven months ago, that I can move things with my mind.” He admits.

“Like Matilda?” Andrea asks with an edge of delight to her voice.

Max’s smile wavers, and he drops his gaze. “No, more like Carrie.” He admits, and Andrea’s expression crumples. But it’s closer to concern than fear, so Meira doesn’t feel the need to jump in to reassure everyone. “That’s part of why I’m… going somewhere else.” He adds ruefully.

Andrea nods. “I considered moving, for a couple of months after what happened here. Lucas got connected to this… vengeful spirit.” She explains, looking to Meira to check that she’s getting the terminology right, and Meira nods encouragingly. “And he got so withdrawn, he lost most of his friends, and then when my dad walked into the lake and all the weird deaths just _stopped…_ Well, we’re not exactly a huge town. People talk.”

Max grimaces knowingly. “Yeah.” He agrees, and Andrea nods.

“But you stayed?” Sam asks.

Andrea shrugs, smiling faintly. “Things got better, and… despite everything, we did still have a support network here.” She gestures vaguely in the air. “My job, for example. I know I only got it because everyone around here knows me as the Sheriff’s daughter, and I got the hours I wanted because everyone knows what happened to my husband and my dad. Starting over would have been harder for us, in the end.” She muses. Then she gives a rueful little laugh. “Of course, with the lake basically gone now, there’s been something of a mass exodus.”

“Yeah, we noticed on the way in.” Sam says, nodding. “Quite a few places boarded up.”

Andrea nods. “Yeah, but, honestly? It’s a bit of a relief to me that the lake’s gone now. It doesn’t change what happened, but… there are less bad memories this way, I suppose.” They chat for a little bit longer about the state of the town, the efforts the town council have gone to, to try and keep their local economy from collapsing entirely.

The conversation is interrupted some half an hour later by the front door opening and Lucas bouncing into the room, with a grinning Dean on his heels. “Mom!” Lucas says, enthusiastic and chiding all at once. “Why didn’t you tell me Dean and Sam and Meira were coming to visit?!”

Andrea scoops her son into a hug. “I didn’t know until this morning, either.” She tells him, and then, a little quieter, but no less amused. “Remember your manners.”

“Hi, Sam. Hi, Meira.” Lucas says obligingly, and they both say ‘hi’ back through their grins. Then Lucas stalls on Max. “Um, hello?”

“Hey.” Max says, unable to keep from smiling a little. “I’m Max.”

“I’m Lucas. Do you save people like Sam and Dean do?” Lucas asks curiously.

Max’s smile grows a little stronger, if a little more twisted as well. “Eventually, maybe. Right now I think I’m still the one that needs saving.”

Lucas nods his understanding of that. “They’re good at saving people, so you’ll be fine.” He says, with all the assurance of a six year old. “They saved me when I got a ghost inside my head.” He explains, gesturing vaguely towards himself. “Is that what happened to you, too?”

Max shakes his head. “No. I, um, I found out I could move things with my mind a while ago.” He hesitates there, then shrugs. “It got their attention, I guess, so they came looking, and helped me out of a rough situation.”

“That’s so _cool_.” Lucas tells him.

Max grins, ducking his head a little. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Can I see?” Lucas asks hopefully.

“Sure.” Max agrees, and makes his mug levitate. Lucas stares, mouth agape, and Meira can see Max relaxing and coming out of his defensive shell at the sheer awe on Lucas’s face. “Meira mentioned you’ve got some psychic abilities, too.” Max says curiously.

Lucas nods, glancing over at Meira with a shy smile. “Yeah. It’s not half as cool as being able to move things with my mind, though. I can just see auras and stuff.”

“That’s pretty cool.” Max offers.

“You’ve learned to turn it on and off, too, I see.” Meira adds, grinning. “Well done.” Lucas looks at her and nods, grinning again. Somehow, within fifteen minutes, Max has ended up sitting on the floor with Lucas, talking about their different powers. Sam joins them a little bit later, bringing up his prophetic dreams and visions hesitantly.

“Well, now that the kids are fully occupied,” Meira says cheekily, earning a sour look from Sam and a snicker from Dean, “do you need any help with lunch, Andrea?”

“No, no.” Andrea assures her, waving her off. “It’s all already made, I just need to bring it out.” She gets up and does so, and they sit around munching on sandwiches and telling stories about their work. Meira tells a dramatic and disney-ified version of their epic battle with a plague of locusts, and other creepy crawlies, which Lucas greatly enjoys, and Sam chips in with the story about their childhood home being haunted and the psychic they met there.

At some point, while Meira’s distracted by one of Andrea’s anecdotes about the ridiculous drama of the deputies at the station, the conversation between the others must turn, because Lucas suddenly jumps up and runs off, returning moments later with a kid-sized guitar. He shows off, primarily for Dean, who is, to no one’s surprise except perhaps Max’s, entirely attentive and encouraging.

Meira doesn’t even notice the time slipping by until Sam says “Hey, Dean, we’d better get going if we want to get to Blue Earth before tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving already?!” Lucas asks, looking devastated.

Dean actually looks torn, which is hilarious given how eager he was to get this trip over and done with before. “Sorry, Lucas.” He says, sounding genuinely remorseful. “But we already told Pastor Jim we’d be there this evening.”

Lucas pouts, but nods, and then throws his arms around Dean like he’s thinking of maybe never letting go. Dean hugs him back, then gently pries him off when the hug lasts a little too long. “Come on, buddy, we’ll see you again soon.” He promises.

“Okay.” Lucas agrees.

There’s another round of farewells as they make their way to the door, Meira gets her own hug from Andrea, and Lucas extracts another promise for them to visit soon, and then they’re on their way again. The mood in the car turns sombre as they leave the Barr household behind. “He’s a lucky kid.” Max says, in a tone that’s half wistful, half jealous.

“Yeah.” Meira agrees. “He’s had his fair share of tragedy, but Andrea’s a good mom.” She agrees.

Max nods, swallows, and looks determinedly out of the window.

* * *

**Blue Earth, Minnesota – Tuesday 9 th  May 2006 **

They roll to a stop outside the little house attached to the church in Blue Earth sometime after ten, but there’s still a light on in one of the windows, so Meira doesn’t worry that they’ve put Pastor Jim out too much. He welcomes Sam and Dean with friendly shoulder-claps and genuine warmth. He greets Meira with a little less warmth, but no less openness. “And you must be Max.” He greets once Sam and Dean have moved out of the way.

“That’s me.” Max agrees, going right back to closed off and wary. “You must be Jim.”

Pastor Jim smiles. “That’s me.” He echoes, holding out a hand for Max to shake. “I’m glad to have you here, Max.” He assures him, and Max nods. “Come on, let me show you where you’ll be staying, if you like it here.” He offers, and leads them all upstairs. The house isn’t huge, but there’s a guest bedroom that’s going to become Max’s room, and a semi-office like room that has enough space for a couple of air mattresses on the floor. “I’m afraid someone is going to have to take the couch.” Pastor Jim adds, looking between Sam, Dean, and Meira.

“I’ll take it.” Meira offers, and Sam and Dean shrug and toss their duffels onto the mattresses.

Then Pastor Jim ushers them all down to the kitchen for a proper sit-down dinner, despite the lateness of the hour. Conversation is a little stilted at first, what with Max being visibly wary and Pastor Jim trying to coax him out of his shell, but it’s not too bad. Meira does wonder if Missouri mightn’t have been a better choice, just for the complete lack of any parallels to Max’s past, but she couldn’t have taught Max how to hunt, and he was pretty clear on the fact that he would rather that than try to fit himself into a peaceful life.

“So, how long are you boys staying this time?” Pastor Jim asks Sam and Dean eventually.

“Not long.” Dean assures him. “Meira wants to stay a day or two, just to make sure Max is settling in okay, but then we’re hitting the road again.”

Pastor Jim looks over at Meira. “That’s very considerate of you. I’m glad Max has such a good friend in his corner.” Meira’s pretty sure he’s saying that for Max’s benefit more than hers, but since she wants him to hear it just as much, that doesn’t bother her at all. “Can I ask how you ended up travelling with Sam and Dean? They’re not known for picking up strays.”

“They’re _terrible_ at staying in touch with people, aren’t they?” Meira asks, and Pastor Jim chuckles, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with words, but giving her a look that’s very conspiratorial. “We ran into each other in Colorado. There was a wendigo snacking on campers and hikers out on Blackwater Ridge.” She explains, and Pastor Jim’s eyes widen a little.

“She got herself lost in the middle of wendigo-infested woods.” Dean interjects, rolling his eyes. “Stuck to us because we were her best hope of getting out of there, and then just tagged along. Man, that feels like forever ago.”

“Six months, more or less.” Meira tells him.

“How are Haley and her brothers, do you know?” Sam asks curiously.

“Spoke to Haley a couple of months ago.” Meira tells him. “She seemed good. Gymnast friend of hers was having trouble with a poltergeist, but Haley handled it.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Are you trying to turn _everyone_ into hunters?” He asks incredulously. “First Charlie, then Kat, now Haley?”

Meira shrugs. “I don’t see why you’re so resistant to sharing information with people who’re already in the know. I’m not _pushing_ anyone into it, but what’s so bad about there being more people about who can handle the basic stuff? People who know enough to call an expert if they run into something bigger?”

“Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime.” Pastor Jim agrees, nodding thoughtfully. “But have you considered the risk that people who know some, but not enough, may walk into trouble they’re not prepared for?”

Meira shrugs. “People who know absolutely nothing walk into trouble they’re not prepared for all the time. First thing I tell everyone in my phone book is ‘call me if you notice anything odd’. I mean, these are people who know first hand how dangerous the supernatural can be, so it’s not like they don’t know that the stakes are high, and if I thought they didn’t, I would definitely hammer the point home.” It’s on the tip of her tongue to point out that she grew up being made very aware that most people are a lot more squishy than she is, before she remembers that she can’t, and swallows the words back down. “Choice is a God-given right, but how can people choose when they don’t even know there’s a choice to be made?” She asks instead.

Pastor Jim’s eyes gleam with intrigue at the question. “An interesting point. Are you sure you want to debate theology with a pastor?” He asks, grinning. “Because one could argue that the first choice was when humanity first fell into sin.”

Meira sits up straighter, ignoring Dean’s groan of dismay and Sam’s attempts to hide his snickering behind his glass. “Humanity’s first choice was between blind obedience and free will, and in order to _have_ free will, we have to be able to choose sin, or evil, or whatever you want to call it, but free will in and of itself isn’t sin.”

Pastor Jim’s eyebrows rise. “You think Eve was right, to eat the apple?” He asks.

Meira laughs. “Have you ever met a human?” She asks rhetorically, and at Pastor Jim’s raised eyebrows, she says; “What do you think would happen if you put a piece of candy in front of a kid and told them ‘do not, under any circumstances, eat this candy’?”

Pastor Jim starts laughing as well. “They would eat the candy the moment my back was turned.”

Meira spreads her arms in a ‘there you are’ gesture. “If God didn’t want Eve to eat the apple, he could’ve just _not_ put it there.” She points out. “It was a test, but not the sort you pass or fail. If we were ready for free will, ready for disobedience and self-determination and consequences, we would take it, and if we weren’t, we wouldn’t. We did.”

“A fascinating take on it.” Pastor Jim says, not quite agreeing with her, but not trying to impose his own interpretation, either. Meira decides that Pastor Jim is alright.

“Meira’s pretty big on the whole free will thing.” Sam tells him.

“Family legacy.” Meira agrees.

The rest of dinner is passed in lively debate between Meira and Pastor Jim on the topic of scripture and it’s meaning and relevance. It’s clearly not a topic of much interest to anyone else, but they seem entertained enough by how worked up Meira and Pastor Jim end up getting. Dean heckles them regularly, and Sam follows them like a tennis match, while Max just leans back, tensing every time the volume goes up and relaxing again every time no violence ensues.

It’s almost midnight when they wind down and turn in for the night. Meira is just about to strip down to her underwear and curl up on the couch when she realises that Dean didn’t follow the others upstairs, but is instead lingering by the back door, looking out over the graveyard next door with a beer in one hand. “Dean?” She asks quietly, padding over on bare feet to check on him. Dean turns his head to indicate he’s heard her, but doesn’t actually answer. Meira steps out to join him and looks at his face in profile, trying to read the expression there.

“You really think these powers of Sam’s are nothing to worry about?” Dean asks her eventually.

Meira has no idea how to answer that. “Would it stop you from worrying if I said yes?” She asks, instead of actually addressing the question.

Dean snorts. “Probably not.”

“Honestly? I don’t know, Dean. Maybe they’re harmless, maybe they’re the harbinger of the apocalypse.” Meira says, and Dean snorts. If only she was actually joking, Meira thinks with a touch of gallows humour.

“I hate not knowing what’s going on.” Dean admits, taking a sip of his beer and glowering resentfully out into the night.

Meira has to bite back the urge to tell him everything, if it would make him sound even just a tiny bit less uncertain. She can’t tell him what he wants to know, even though she has the information all piled up in her head, all in his own words in the form of bedtime stories. Instead she just puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder and says; “We’ll figure it out.”


	3. Abomination

**Hibbing, Minnesota – Thursday 11 th  May 2006 **

Since they’re in the area, they decide to check out a mysterious disappearance in a city John Winchester had marked as suspicious in his journal. Meira has no idea what to make of the kid’s story. The whining growl, as he’d put it, would suggest a more animalistic attacker, but pretty much everything she could think of doesn’t fit the attack pattern. Idly, she starts scribbling out a list of the particulars, the noise, the invisibility, the kidnapping, and adds the location with a question mark next to it, before making a list of anything and everything she could think of that might fit the pattern, scribbling out the ones that don’t fit all the criteria.

She ends up with a lot of scribbles. Irritated, she slams the pen down and tears the napkin up. “No ideas?” Sam asks, amused, as she leans back in her chair and groans.

“Hellhounds aren’t this prolific, black dogs are silent, skinwalkers are visible and mostly harmless anyway, spring-heeled Jacks molest people instead of abducting them, phantom cats leave more of a mess behind, wendigos don’t tend to stalk urban areas, werewolves only eat hearts, vampires don’t make creepy noises, rugarus are _not_ this subtle or this patient, vetalas paralyse their victims so there wouldn’t be signs of a struggle, lamias go for children not adults, dragons only take virgins-”

“Wait, _dragons_?” Dean asks on a laugh. “You think dragons are real?”

Meira stops, blinks at her pieces of napkin, and then reminds herself that, right, most people still think dragons are extinct. “Let me guess, you don’t believe in phoenixes or unicorns either?” Meira wonders dryly, rubbing at her eyes. She misses her dad.

Dean bursts out laughing. “Do you believe in the tooth fairy, too?”

“Tooth fairies are only a subspecies of the larger and far more aggressive bone fairy.” Meira deadpans.

Sam snickers. “That almost sounds creepy enough to be true.” He acknowledges. “But, anyway, just because we’re stumped now doesn’t mean it’s not our kind of thing.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Dean agrees, still chuckling intermittently. “We should ask around more tomorrow.”

“I saw a motel about five miles back.” Sam says, starting to collect up his things.

“Whoa, whoa, easy!” Dean protests, humour fading. “Let’s have another round.”

Sam groans. “I’m tired, Dean.” He complains. “And we should get an early start tomorrow.”

“Fine, _Grandma_.” Dean grouses, abandoning the dartboard he’d been messing about with to collect his jacket and fish out the car keys. “Go start the car, I’ve gotta take a leak.” He instructs, tossing the keys to Sam, who catches them automatically.

“Do you really believe in dragons?” Sam asks as they wend through the crowd. Meira eyes him, but his expression is open and his tone was curious, not mocking, so she answers honestly.

“Sure. More lore about dragons, phoenixes, and unicorns than, shit, pretty much everything except maybe vampires and werewolves. I think they’re probably extinct, or close to it, or there’d be more sightings and modern day legends, but yeah, why wouldn’t I believe in them?” Well, mostly honestly, anyway. She can’t exactly tell Sam that she knows for a fact that dragons, phoenixes, and unicorns were the first sentient species to walk the earth, long before God dreamed up humans, and that they might be rare these days, but they learned how to blend in with humans back when creation was still malleable.

They’re almost outside when Meira’s phone rings. Slowing to a stop, Meira checks the caller ID and her eyebrows rise at what she sees. Flipping the phone open, she brings it to her ear. “Hey, Princess.” She greets cheerfully, and after a moment of confusion, Sam realises who she’s talking to.

Matt laughs a little. “Hey.” He replies, but he sounds a touch subdued.

“Is everything okay?” Meira checks.

“Yeah, yeah.” Matt assures her quickly, picking up on her main concern at once. “Nothing’s _wrong_ , like- No curses or anything.”

“Good.” Meira says, mostly for Sam’s benefit, because he’s starting to look worried. He relaxes as she says it, then holds up the keys to indicate that he’s going to continue on to the car. Meira nods and waves him off, turning towards a quieter corner. “So, what’s up?” She asks more casually.

“Nothing much, I just…” Matt sighs. “I just wanted to talk to someone who won’t think I’m crazy or stupid for believing in curses and stuff.” He admits. “Not that my mom and dad haven’t been great about it or anything, it’s just…”

“Just?” Meira prompts, because she’s honestly not sure where Matt is going with that.

“How the hell do you make new friends when you just end up _lying_ to them?” Matt blurts out. “It’s not the sort of thing you just tell people, I get that, but… it’s become a pretty huge thing in my life, you know? Knowing shit like that is _real_. And, the other week? Jonathan thought it would be fun to mess about with a ouija board-”

“Oh, God.” Meira breaths.

“ _Yeah_.” Matt agrees emphatically. “Miranda was all for it, and I had no idea how to- to tell them it was a really bad idea. In the end, I just refused to do it, and they said it was no fun with only two people, but it was… I felt like I was lying to them, somehow, by not telling them that- I don’t even know. How do you deal with this?”

“You’re asking the _wrong_ person here, Princess.” Meira tells him with a rueful chuckle. “I don’t give a fuck if people know I believe in the supernatural or not. I mean, I had the benefit of growing up in a big family who knew, and having a bunch of friends who knew, so the rest of the world didn’t really matter, you know? They could think I was crazy all they wanted, I had people in my corner no matter what.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I could just go about telling people.” Matt acknowledges. Dean emerges from the crowd, heading for the door, and spots her. He raises his eyebrows at her, so Meira gestures to the phone and mouths ‘Matt’. Dean frowns. Meira rolls her eyes and corrects herself to ‘Princess’. “I know I’ve got my mom and dad who believe me, so I shouldn’t-” Matt goes on with a heavy sigh. “But I really don’t want to be ‘that crazy occultist kid’, you know? I had enough of that being ‘that crazy bug boy’.”

Recognition dawns on Dean’s face. “Everything okay?” Dean asks, and Meira nods. “Where’s Sam?” Meira just points to the door, and Dean nods and goes after him.

“There’s no ‘shouldn’t’.” Meira corrects Matt gently. “You’re not wrong to want more friends that you don’t have to hide stuff from, and you’re not wrong to not want to be shunned by your classmates, either.” It’s definitely a problem though, and Meira’s not sure what to do about it. “Hey, where are you living, right now?”

“Tulsa. Dad wanted to stay close to Oasis Plains so that we could, you know, be on the ground to stop people trying to live there.” Matt explains.

“Well, there’s this guy, probably a psychic of some sort, living in Sapulpa who knows all about the curse. That might be a place to start with people who know.” Meira muses. “Joe Whitetree.”

“Thanks.” Matt says, although it’s not very enthusiastic.

Meira turns the problem over in her mind some more, and nearly smacks herself when the obvious solution presents itself. If Matt needs more friends in the know, well, Meira has an entire freaking phone book dedicated to people like that. “Hey, here’s an idea. I’ll introduce you to Charlie and Ben.” She offers, and mourns the lack of something as basic as group chats on mobiles. “They’re about your age, and they know all about the supernatural. Then you can have friends who know, so you won’t feel the lack so much with the friends who don’t. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds- that sounds great, actually.” Matt tells her. “You really are my fairy godmother, aren’t you?” He asks with humour.

“I do my best.” Meira says cheerfully. “So, I’ll text you their numbers once I’ve got the okay from them, okay?” She checks.

“Yeah.” Matt agrees. “Hey, how did they…?”

“Find out?” Meira suggests, and Matt makes an affirmative noise. “You should ask them yourself.” She decides with cheerful malice. “It’ll make a great ice-breaker, and-” Meira cuts herself off when Dean comes back into the bar, an expression of tightly-controlled alarm on his face that makes Meira’s heart lurch with fear. “Hey, sorry, Princess, but it looks like I’ve gotta go. I’ll get those numbers to you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure.” Matt agrees, sounding worried. “Is everything okay?”

“Not sure.” Meira admits as Dean makes a beeline for her.

“Let me know when you are.” Matt begs.

“I will.” Meira assures him. “Talk soon.” She promises, then hangs up just as Dean reaches her. “What’s wrong?”

“Sam’s disappeared.” Dean tells her, brisk and clipped, then holds out the keys to the Impala. “These were on the ground beside the car.”

Well, shit. Meira wracks her memory to see if she knows anything, but there are several of her dad’s stories that included a disappearing Sam, so she’s not sure where to even start. At least she can be relatively sure it’s not Azazel. It’s too early for that.

They search the bar, the parking lot, and the road in both directions. They ask the other customers if anyone was outside in the right time-frame to see Sam being taken. Several people remember seeing him leave the bar, but no one remembers where he went or what he did after that. Dean’s starting to look vaguely sick by the time they spot the traffic cameras. With that as their only lead, they head to the motel Sam picked out for them and get a room, since they’re not going to be able to do anything until morning. Meira will be surprised if Dean sleeps at all, and she doesn’t bother to ask for two rooms, because she’s sure as hell not leaving him to brood on his own.

* * *

**Hibbing, Minnesota – Friday 12 th  May 2006 **

Dean agrees to let Meira play the role of state police, sticking to the truth for himself. Meira mourns that choice when she sees the deputy they’re going to be speaking to. If she’s going to play the role properly, she ought to be professional, and Dean’s not in any fit state to flirt with anyone. “What can we do for you, Officer Harper?” Deputy Kathleen Hudak asks, handing the badge back.

Meira can’t help but let their fingers brush when she takes it, despite the voice in her head reminding her to play her role properly. “I’m working a missing person’s case.” She explains.

“I didn’t know the Jenkins case was being covered by the state police.” Kathleen says, before Meira can go on.

Meira smiles a little and changes her story on the fly. “That’s why I’m in town, actually, but no, this is something else. Last night after I was off duty, I went out for a drink with my cousins-” She tips her head towards Dean, who nods to the deputy. “-and when we were heading home, Sam went out to start the car ahead of us, and he was gone by the time we got out there.”

“The car was still there?” Kathleen checks.

“Yup. The keys were on the ground next to it.” Meira adds.

“Does your cousin have a drinking problem?” Kathleen asks, matter-of-fact.

“Sam?” Dean interjects with a snort. “Two beers and he’s doing karaoke. No, he wasn’t drunk. He was taken.” He insists.

Kathleen glances between them, then nods and heads around the desk to her computer. Meira and Dean follow her. “Alright. What’s his surname?”

“Winchester.” Meira tells her.

“Like the rifle?” Kathleen asks while she’s typing.

“Like the rifle.” Dean agrees.

Kathleen types some more. “Well, he’s not showing up in any current field reports.” She tells them apologetically.

“I noticed some surveillance cameras just outside the bar.” Meira tells her.

“Uh-huh. The county traffic cam?” Kathleen checks.

Meira nods. “They weren’t pointed directly at the parking lot, but they’ve got that entire stretch of road covered. Maybe they caught something.”

“Well,” Kathleen says agreeably, “I have access to the traffic cam footage down at the county works department, but-” She cuts herself off with a faint grimace. “Well, anyhow, let’s do this the right way.” She says, and goes to get some paperwork. “Why don’t you fill out a missing person’s report… and sit tight over here?” She suggests, holding out said paperwork.

Meira takes it. “I’m all for doing things by the book, but I can’t just sit here while my cousin is missing.” She says, even as she starts filling out the forms. “Especially not when there’s every possibility that this is connected to the Jenkins disappearance.” Kathleen’s eyebrows rise a little. “I promise I’ll be professional.” Meira adds, flashing a winning smile up at her.

Kathleen huffs a laugh. “I’m sorry-” She begins.

“Look, Officer-” Dean interrupts. “He’s family. He’s my little brother. I’m supposed to look out for the kid. You’ve gotta let us go with you.” He insists.

Kathleen’s expression goes stern. “You I _definitely_ can’t bring along. You’re a civilian.” She insists, but then she softens and cuts a look across at Meira. “But I suppose I can let your cousin tag along.” She capitulates.

Dean looks about to stage a mutiny, but Meira puts a hand on his arm. “Dean, I’ll find him, I swear.” She promises. For a moment, he hesitates, glaring helplessly at her, then he nods once, shakes her off and heads out of the building. Meira finishes filling out the report, hands the paperwork back to Kathleen, and then after a little bit more waiting, follows the woman out to her cruiser.

They’re half way to the county works department when Kathleen starts frowning and checking her rear view mirror repeatedly. “Something wrong?” Meira asks, tensing a little.

“I think we’re being followed.” Kathleen admits, sounding perturbed.

Meira blinks. “Big black muscle car?” She asks.

Kathleen startles, then turns to stare at her for a moment. “Yes, how did you…?”

Meira grins. “That’s Dean.” Kathleen purses her lips in annoyance, and Meira shrugs. “Trust me, Deputy, you’re not going to be able to dissuade him. There’s nothing more important to Dean than family, and the fact that Sam went missing right under his nose has to be killing him right now.”

Kathleen clicks her tongue in frustration, but doesn’t argue. She does make Meira wait outside when she goes to get the traffic cam footage though, and Meira waves Dean over once she’s disappeared inside. “You got made.” Meira tells him once he’s ambled over.

“The Impala isn’t meant to be _subtle_.” Dean retorts. “I knew I should’ve played the officer.”

“This way makes more sense.” Meira reminds him, like she had this morning.

“This way is going to have Deputy Hudak stonewalling me every step of the way.” Dean retorts, but he doesn’t offer up any alternatives, because Meira had shot them all down this morning.

“I’ll talk her around.” Meira promises, then sighs wistfully. “Pity she doesn’t seem like the type to do favours in return for flattery. She’s _really_ pretty.” Dean snorts, then tips his head in acknowledgement. “You don’t think so?”

Dean shrugs. “She seems a bit straight-laced. Not my type.”

Meira laughs, maybe a little harder than she ought, because knowing who he’s going to end up settling down with, that’s an understatement. “Oh, I don’t know.” She says, to explain away her humour. “Convincing the straight-laced ones to break a few rules is half the fun.”

Dean chuckles, but it’s half-hearted. They slip into silence, and Meira tries to think of something else she can say to keep Dean from brooding while they wait, but comes up with nothing. Then she remembers she promised Matt some numbers and an update, so she gets out her phone. “Who’re you texting?” Dean asks, glancing over as Meira silently curses the lack of touch screens and proper keyboards on phones.

“Haley and Charlie.”

“Why?”

“Matt’s been feeling a bit isolated now that he knows about the supernatural but can’t tell anyone, so I offered to put him in touch with some people his age in the know.” Meira explains, as she gets an enthusiastic response from Charlie. “Don’t have Ben’s number, though, which is kind of stupid oversight on my part, actually, I’d better ask for Tommy’s as well.”

“Is that what the call yesterday was about?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, he just wanted someone to talk to who knows.” Meira confirms. “His friends had a close call with a ouija board, and I think it shook him more than he wants to admit.”

“Oh, yikes.” Dean winces.

“Yeah, that’s basically what I said.” Meira agrees as Haley gets back to her with Ben’s number, and Meira texts back asking for Tommy’s for her own purposes. Then she texts Matt the two numbers. He responses with thanks, and then asks if they’re okay. Meira texts back a quick update on the situation, Sam’s disappearance, and what they’re waiting for.

‘Good luck’ Matt texts back, and Meira slips her phone away just as Kathleen returns. She gives Dean a hard look, which gets her exactly nowhere, so she transfers it to Meira, who just smiles back like ‘I told you so’. Kathleen sighs, but gives in and waves the papers in her hands. “I think we got something.” She says, and Dean’s up off the bench in seconds. Kathleen stares at him without blinking as she hands the papers off to Meira instead of him.

Meira lets him peer over her shoulder as she flips through the papers, which turn out to be pictures from the traffic cameras. The second to last image is of a battered old van leaving the bar’s parking lot. “Look at the plates.” Kathleen instructs.

The next picture is a close up. “The plates look new.” Dean remarks. “It’s probably stolen.”

“So whoever’s driving that rust-bucket must be involved.” Kathleen agrees. Just then, a van with a fucked up engine drives by, and Dean gives her a significant look. Meira rubs her hand over her face, trying not to curse. If the noise that had been heard was the _car_ , not the creature, suddenly something like vampires is looking a lot more likely.

“So, we track the van, we find Sam.” Meira says, while wondering how big a machete she can get away with carrying in front of Deputy Hudak.

“I suppose I can let the pair of you go through some of the footage, if you were serious about wanting to help out.” Kathleen says with a hint of challenge in her tone.

Meira pulls up a grin, shoving her worry to the back of her mind. “Oh, I see how it is. Your principles will bend when there’s massive amounts of drudgery involved.” She teases.

Kathleen grins back, unrepentant. “You think I should stick to the rules on this one?” She asks with an impressive imitation of deference.

“And let Dean get out of doing the hard work? No way.” Meira insists. Kathleen chuckles and leads them both inside, where they settle in to watch a bunch of really boring footage looking for that one ugly truck. It takes hours, long enough for Kathleen to run out and get them all lunch, and they’re constantly having to back-track and double check footage when the truck takes an unexpected turn, and it gets worse the further out of the city they get.

Eventually, they lose it, and can’t find it again. “The rest of this search is going to have to be leg-work.” Kathleen declares, once they’re really very extra sure they can’t find the truck on the next camera.

“Alright, let’s go.” Dean agrees, and they head outside.

Kathleen pauses when Dean, instead of turning off towards the Impala, continues to walk with them towards the cruiser. “And where do you think _you’re_ going?” She demands sternly.

Dean turns to face her with his jaw set. “To look for my brother.”

“You need to stay here, you’re a _civilian_.” Kathleen insists.

“You’re not going to convince him.” Meira tells her before it can turn into an outright argument. Kathleen turns to her, eyes flinty. “I’m serious, no matter what you do, he’s going to find a way to follow us, so you might as well just let him come.”

“I could arrest him.” Kathleen says, but it doesn’t sound like an actual threat, and a moment later, she throws her hands in the air. “Fine. I can’t believe I’m saying this. Get in the car before I change my mind.” Dean nods and goes. Kathleen takes a moment of just standing there, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You know this breaks about a dozen rules, possibly even a law or two. Taking a civilian into danger like this?”

“It’s family.” Meira says with a shrug. “I’d go against God’s word for my family, and the laws of men are flimsy in comparison.”

Kathleen huffs what might be a laugh, then heads for her cruiser. Meira walks alongside her, and then jogs ahead a little. “Hey, Dean?” Dean grunts an acknowledgement. “Gimme the keys, I gotta grab something from the car.”

Dean narrows his eyes at her. “I’ll come with you.” He says instead of tossing her the keys. “I don’t trust you not to scratch my baby.” He adds, and Meira hopes it’s for Kathleen’s sake, and not the truth. Once Dean’s popped the trunk, Meira reaches in to the section where she’s been allowed to keep her collection of knives and swaps out the silver one that was already in her pocket for a much sturdier stainless steel one. “Steel?” Dean asks quietly.

“My best guess right now is vampires.” Meira admits. “I’m _not_ walking into a vampire den without something that can take a head off, I’m just not.” Not when she’s like this, basically helpless and vulnerable. Vampires are scarier than wendigo, and that would have managed to kill her if her healing hadn’t been working, and she’s not sure what the limit is on that. A broken neck is actually a simple fix compared to a throat that’s been entirely torn out.

Dean’s eyebrows jump up to his hairline. “…Is this like the unicorns?” He asks, amused but wary.

Meira gives him a startled look. “You… don’t believe in _vampires_?” She asks incredulously.

“Never seen one or heard of one.” Dean says, but then shrugs. “But I’d buy they’re real if it wasn’t coming from the girl who believes in _unicorns_.”

Meira rolls her eyes. She really wishes she hadn’t said anything, now. It’s not like she can explain how she knows they exist when the explanation is angelic knowledge. So many afternoons spent sitting in Qaada’s lap as he told her about all the myriad amazing and terrible things that existed in the world. One day it would be the intricate ways of bees, and the next, how unicorns gained sentience and learned to walk among humans.

“I was _joking_ , Christ.” Meira huffs at him, lying through her teeth. “I thought you figured that out after the quip about _bone fairies_.” Without looking at him, Meira sizes up the machetes Dean has in the trunk, and decides that Kathleen is absolutely going to notice if Dean is carrying one of those, so hands him one of her own knives, the iron one, since she gave up her second steel one in favour of expanding the variety of her collection when Dean started bitching about the space she was taking up. “That’ll fit in your inside jacket pocket, right?” She checks.

“Uh, yeah.” Dean says after testing it out. “Iron, not wood?” He asks.

“If someone out there grows fangs and tries to bite you, please don’t try to stab them in the chest, just take their god damn head off.”

“Beheading. Got it.” Dean agrees, although he sounds dry enough to still be sceptical.

Rolling her eyes again, Meira grabs her latest paperback out of her bag and shoves it into Dean’s chest with a bright, false smile. “If Kathleen asks, I wanted to get you that, to keep you from being a pest during the search.”

“You’re the pest.” Dean replies as he slams the trunk shut. He keeps up the pissed off scowl all the way back to the cruiser. Kathleen doesn’t ask, but only because her eyes drop to the paperback in Dean’s hands, and a very obvious smirk curls across her lips before she gets into the car to hide it.

It’s extremely weird for Meira to be in a car with her dad in the _back_. She tries to remember if it’s ever happened before when he wasn’t injured, but no. Even when he was teaching her and Jace to drive, he was always in the passenger seat. She has to resist the urge to keep looking back to check he’s not bleeding out or something.

They follow the route they’ve already traced out via the cameras while dusk falls around them, until they finally reach the stretch of road they lost the truck on and Kathleen points out that they’re probably looking for a private driveway. “This is going to be hell in the dark.” Meira comments, staring out the window and feeling grateful that her grace still works well enough to enhance her eyesight. Kathleen hums, but she’s distracted from making a response when her computer beeps.

After a bit of tapping, and then a moment or two of silence, she says; “So… Alicia.”

Meira remembers that that’s the name on her badge, and turns. “Yeah?”

“I ran your badge number.” Kathleen begins.

“Ah, shit.” Meira sighs, grimacing. Kathleen glances over at her, expression hard, and then pulls the car over onto the verge.

“Would you step out of the car, please.” Kathleen instructs, undoing her seatbelt.

“Whoa, whoa-!” Dean says, leaning forwards in between the seats. “Look, whatever you wanna do about this, can we _please_ find Sam first?” He pleads.

“So you knew about this.” Kathleen concludes, and Dean grimaces. She shakes her head at them in faintly disgusted disbelief. “I don’t even know who you are.” She accuses. “Either of you. Or if this Sam person is actually missing.”

“Alright.” Meira says, and spreads her hands. “What do you want to know? No lies.”

“Why should I believe that?” Kathleen challenges. “Why would lying be off the table when identity theft and impersonating an officer aren’t?”

Meira’s lips twitch a little. “I told you, Deputy. When it comes to my family, I’ll do whatever I need to, to keep them safe. Before, I needed access to things only the police can access. Now, I need your help. If lying will jeopardise that, I’ll tell truth.”

“Alright. Who are you?” Kathleen challenges.

Meira tips her head and considers the question. “My name’s Meira.”

“Meira…?” Kathleen prompts.

Meira smiles. “Winchester.” She says, amused that Dean will think she’s lying, when she’s actually keeping her promise and telling the truth.

“There’s no record of a Meira Winchester.” Kathleen tells her sternly.

“There wouldn’t be.” Meira acknowledges. “I’m not supposed to exist.”

Kathleen frowns. “Explain.” She orders.

“I’d really rather not.” Meira replies, but at Kathleen’s hard look, she sighs and looks away, and tries to find a way to tell the truth without giving anything away to either Kathleen _or_ Dean. “I don’t have a legal identity because I wasn’t born at a hospital. No one except family even knew my- my mom was pregnant.” She looks back to Kathleen with a hard smile. “Not a great idea, as it turned out. My pabbi- my _dad_ , in English, had to cut me out himself.” Kathleen sucks in a sharp breath. “Satisfied?”

“You could still be lying.” Kathleen says, but she doesn’t sound convinced.

“Does it even _matter_?” Dean asks, and when Kathleen turns to him with eyebrows raised, he presses on. “ _Sam_ is what matters right now. He’s missing and if we don’t find him fast-” He falters, unable to say the words, and then his expression hardens and he changes tack. “If you two really want to have this argument, I’ll get out and search on foot if I have to, but it would be a hell of a lot faster in a car, so can we shelve the discussion about who’s arresting who until he’s _safe_?”

Kathleen shakes her head, looking frustrated. “I’m sorry, you’ve given me no choice.”

“There’s always a choice.” Meira tells her quietly. “It’s just not always a choice you can live with.”

Kathleen stares at her for a long moment, then she looks away, eyes catching on something pinned to the passenger-side visor. Meira follows her gaze to a picture of Kathleen with her chin propped on a man’s shoulder. “Alright.” She sighs, putting her seatbelt back on. “First, we find Sam Winchester, _then_ I’m taking you in.”

Dean slumps back into the back seat, and Meira beams in relief. “Will you promise to handcuff me and bend me over your car?” She asks, tone deliberately lascivious, and Kathleen chokes on her own breath, flicking an incredulous look over at Meira before she pulls back out onto the road and continues driving.

“You have no shame at all, do you?” Kathleen asks incredulously.

“Shame is such a waste of time.” Meira says, turning her head towards the window to watch for roads. “Whoever invented it should be taken out back and shot.” Kathleen doesn’t answer her, just continues driving slowly along the road, searching for any turns. “Who is he?” Meira asks, when the monotony begins to wear on her attention.

“Who?” Kathleen asks.

“The man in the picture.” Meira says. “You looked at it, before you agreed.”

Kathleen doesn’t answer for long enough that Meira starts to wonder if she’s going to. “My brother.” She says finally. “He went missing three years ago. He was never found.” She lets out a slightly shaky breath. “I know what it’s like, to have a little brother, to feel responsible for them, to-” She cuts herself off.

“I’m sorry.” Meira offers.

“Keep your eyes peeled.” Kathleen says, instead of acknowledging that.

Meira lets it go, and does as she’s told, but they get all the way to the next traffic camera without seeing anything. “It’s too dark.” Kathleen announces as they roll to a stop. “We should come back in the morning for a proper search.”

“Let’s at least go back the way we came, take another look.” Meira suggests, and Kathleen nods, turning the car around. Meira rolls her window down and leans out, searching for any sort of break in the foliage, any tracks, any hint that a car might have passed through, but she doesn’t see anything worth noting.

Then she hears a yell. “Stop the car!” She barks out, and Kathleen hits the breaks. Meira’s out the door before it’s even stopped moving. She bolts around the car, and sees that Dean’s already ahead of her, with the advantage of being on the right side of the car.

“What?” He asks her sharply. “What’d you see?”

“Heard a yell.” Meira corrects. She glances back, to see that Kathleen has gotten out of the car as well. “Are you coming?” She asks. Kathleen hesitates, then sets her jaw, nods, and follows.

Meira jogs into the woods with Dean at her side, but there’s no more sounds for them to follow. “Damn it.” Dean curses, and then shouts “SAM!” at a much louder volume.

The woods respond with dead silence. Meira scans the area, searching for any hint of which way to go, where Sam might be, but there’s nothing even her grace-enhanced senses can pick up. Then, so loud it’s almost painful to Meira’s tuned-up senses, a scream of agony. She and Dean don’t even need to look at each other, they bolt off in that direction, the sound of Kathleen following along behind them.

What they find is Alvin Jenkins, pinned to the dirt with a spear through his thigh, hands gripping the wound desperately as he pants for breath. He’s dirty and bloody, but alive, and Meira can’t see any hint of bite marks on his neck. “Oh my god.” Kathleen breaths when she spots him, and then drops to her knees beside him. “Hold on.” She instructs briskly, while stripping off her jacket to use the sleeve as a tourniquet. “Just hold still.”

“Did you see another man?” Dean asks, but he stays on his feet, eyes scanning the trees, just like Meira. “Sam, six foot four, brown hair.”

“Yeah.” Jenkins grits out. “Yeah, he was- in the other cage.”

“Cages.” Dean bites out like a curse. “Which direction?”

“I don’t- I don’t know.” Jenkins gasps out, then gives a strangled yelp as Kathleen pulls the tourniquet tight. “I just ran, I don’t-”

Dean curses for real, and then looks at the natural path they’re on, and starts off down it the way Jenkins presumably came. “Dean!” Meira calls after him, heart in her throat. Splitting up like this is such a bad idea.

“I’ve gotta find Sam.” Dean tells her, not even slowing.

Meira closes her eyes for a moment, reminding herself that they must have survived this the first time. Except would they have heard that yell without Meira there? She really ought to just sit back and do nothing, next time. She almost laughs at herself, because she knows herself too well to believe she’s capable of that. Her train of thought is interrupted when something comes out of nowhere and smacks her in the head. She staggers, dizzy and reeling. She turns, drawing her knife with clumsy fingers as she goes, and nearly throws up as the world loops around her. It takes her a moment to heal the concussion and force herself to focus.

There’s a person there, in a camouflage jacket with a dirty baseball cap on his head and a spear in hand like the one pinning Jenkins to the dirt like a bug on a board. He grins at her. Meira smiles back, and lunges. His spear comes up, and she dodges sideways. The second jab of the spear she deflects with her knife, which catches on what appears to be a nail stuck halfway through the shaft of the make-shift spear. She goes with the momentum, twisting around rather than lose the knife, and her other hand shoots out to grab the spear as she turns. She pretends to try yanking it out of his hands, and when he tightens his hold and pulls back she reverses directions and jams the butt of the spear into his gut.

He doubles over, wheezing, and that makes it easy to pull the spear away from him, turning back to face him and hefting the spear in her hand for a better grip. The man tackles her, still wheezing, but clearly not willing to give up easily. They topple over into the dirt, and if Meira were just human, she’d be in trouble, with her knife arm pinned and the spear unwieldy in such close quarters, but she’s not.

She surges up, twists, and throws the man off her, then scrambles to her knees. He’s already rolling to his feet and standing crouched and ready, teeth bared in an insane laugh. “You’re a strong one, ain’tcha?” He asks. “Oh, this is gonna be _fun_.”

Meira feels disgust well up inside her, and she doesn’t bother to hide it. If she’d found vampires out here, she might have had some sympathy for them, because hunting for survival is one thing, but hunting for _sport_ is another entirely. “Fun, huh?” She asks darkly, then switches her grip on the spear and throws it like a javelin. The man dodges, and then turns to grab it, laughing, and that’s when Meira kicks his knee out and swings her knife around into his throat. It’s not a clean cut, the knife just isn’t big enough, but it slashes his throat open and sends blood gushing out down his front.

He collapses into the dirt, crumpled in a heap, and Meira takes a step back, catching her breath. “You killed him.” Kathleen states, sounding dumbstruck.

“I did.” Meira agrees, looking over at her. She’s managed to get Jenkins unpinned, although she hasn’t removed the spear entirely. “Are we really going to have a problem over that?” She asks, a little incredulously.

Kathleen blinks at her, then sets her jaw and shakes her head. “No.” She decides, then gives Meira’s knife a dubious look. She doesn’t ask, though. “We need to get him to the road, I’ve already radioed for back-up, but an ambulance isn’t going to be able to get all the way out here.” She says, looking down at Jenkins with a grimace. He looks only half conscious, face covered in a sheen of sweat where it isn’t streaked with mud, and eyes rolling back until more white than iris is showing. “Maybe if we both lift him, we can manage without jostling his wound too-”

It’s not enough warning, not even for angel reflexes. Kathleen’s eyes widen barely a fraction of a second before there’s a sharp, tearing pain in Meira’s abdomen, and she sucks in a breath, too shocked to even scream. Her grace flares inside her, but while it stems some of the bleeding, while it heals the nick in her stomach, it can’t heal the wound because there’s a great big chunk of wood still stuck through her. “ _Fuck_.” She swears on a choked breath, and staggers a little, but stays upright. Barely.

Horror curls through her, at the thought that, with her grace bound like this, she’s angel enough not to die, but human enough suffer. She reaches up, trying to grab the spear and pull it out, but her hand is shaking too hard to get a good grip, and when she tries to steady it with grace, she’s too clumsy, too panicked, and sends it brushing up against the binding. _That_ sends her to her knees with a choked off cry, and she refocuses to find herself with one hand in the dirt, the other still fisted around her knife.

“You killed my brother, you _bitch_.” That growl comes from beside her, and Meira looks up at him sideways, panting for breath.

“If you can’t take it, don’t dish it, asshole.” She bites out, and then convulses on another wash of pain as her grace tries instinctively to burn out the intrusion, and can’t push past the binding. The asshole kicks her in the side, and she goes over with a cry that comes out through gritted teeth.

That does, at least, give her a better view of Kathleen leaping on the man from behind to get him in a choke-hold. It almost works, too, until he backs up into a tree with enough force to jar Kathleen into losing her grip. Meira’s already pushing herself upright before she realises it as the man rounds on Kathleen and punches her hard enough to send her sprawling.

Meira lurches from a kneeling position, knife leading, and manages to slash it across the man’s back. He yells in surprise and spins, eyes widening as he sees that Meira is on her feet again, one hand pressing against her wound, the other holding her knife. She slashes again, but he dodges, and then grabs the spear still sticking out of her and jostles it. Agony shakes through her, stirring her grace, which flares again, testing the binding, and she collapses with a scream.

She feels her knife being yanked out of her hand, and she tightens her grip, refusing to let go. A boot smashes down on her fingers, breaking several bones, then grinds, the pain exploding into new dimensions. Then the knife is gone, followed by the boot, and Meira’s hand heals in the next moment. She shoves upright again to glare at the man now holding her knife.

“Think it’s fittin’ if you die the same way he did.” The man says darkly, and then slashes out at Meira’s neck. She _could_ have stopped him, instinct nearly had her reaching up to take the slash on a hand instead, but she lets him, takes that moment of choking on blood, just for the way shock dawns on his ugly face when the wound closes and the blood stops flowing. She grins up at him with bloody teeth. “What the hell are you?” He breathes.

Meira doesn’t think she hates anything more than she hates that question. She spits blood onto his boots. “You’re not the first person to ask me that.” She tells him darkly. With two hands free now, she tries to pull the spear out, but she can’t pull it, and pushing it back out only makes the agony spark through her again, leaving her trembling and too weak. “No one’s yet survived asking.” She adds on a gasp, and then has to wonder if God is nudging things again, because Kathleen’s timing as she comes up behind the guy with a big ass rock and brings it crashing down on his head is so perfect it can only be the product of divine intervention.

The guy crumples, and Kathleen staggers, dropping the rock and staring. “M-Meira?” She asks, voice catching on the word.

“Help me get the fucking thing _out_.” Meira begs, and Kathleen lurches to obey.

It’s when she’s already behind Meira with her hands on the spear that she asks. “Are you sure…?”

“ _Yes_.” Meira insists, and Kathleen pulls it out. Immediately, Meira’s grace rushes in, re-knitting flesh and putting everything back where it belongs. “Oh, thank _fuck_.” Meira breathes, pressing a hand to her newly healed skin and breathing as deeply as she can.

“What-?” Kathleen begins, but Meira turns her head to give her a _look_ , and she snaps her mouth shut. It doesn’t cow her for long, though, and Meira is reluctantly impressed by her nerves. “ _How_ did you do that?” She rephrases.

Meira turns on her knees to drop onto her ass and lean back against a nearby tree, smiling ruefully up at Kathleen. “I like that question better.” She tells her, and some of the tension goes out of Kathleen’s shoulders. “Although there’s so many ways to answer it. Most people who know would tell you it’s because I’m an abomination.”

Kathleen is silent for a moment. “Hence why you don’t like that question.” She says in a tone of dry realisation. A beat later and she drops down to sit beside Meira. “What’s the real answer?”

For a moment, Meira’s stumped. She can’t think of a simple answer that isn’t either misleading or an outright lie. And she did promise Kathleen not to lie anymore. “I was born of an angel’s grace nurtured within a human soul,” Meira says finally, “and quickened by the touch of an archangel. It’ll take more than a bit of old wood through the chest to kill me.”

“An angel.” Kathleen repeats sceptically.

“You don’t have to believe me.” Meira sighs, feeling tired and darkly amused. “But I promise I’m not lying to you.” She looks down at herself and groans. She’s covered in blood, and there’s a great gaping hole in her coat and tank-top that no amount of sleight of hand is going to hide. “Hey, Kathleen, could you do me a favour?” She asks.

“What?” Kathleen prompts.

“Break my arm?” Meira requests, thinking ruefully that she shouldn’t have healed her hand.

“ _What?_ ” Kathleen demands, horrified this time.

“I need an excuse to get into an ambulance when they get here, so that Sam and Dean won’t see me like this.” She gestures at herself.

“They don’t know.” Kathleen realises, eyes widening. Meira wordlessly shakes her head. “Why not?” She presses, demanding an answer.

Meira grits her teeth and looks away. “Because I don’t think I could stand to have them say ‘ _angel_ ’ the same way you did, okay? I think it might actually destroy me if they got as far as ‘abomination’.” She huffs, and then immediately feels guilty when Kathleen winces.

“I’m sorry.” She says, then sighs. “Alright. Give me your arm.” Meira does so, but instead of breaking it, Kathleen links her own through it and then _twists_ in a sudden, sharp jerk. With a bolt of pain, Meira’s shoulder pops out of its socket. “Easier to fix.” Kathleen explains with an apologetic smile.

“Good point.” Meira acknowledges, and then summons up an inviting smile. “Think I can talk you into distracting me from the pain with kisses?” She asks hopefully. Kathleen’s eyebrows shoot up. Meira makes her best innocent face, which is wiped away a second later when Kathleen grabs her face in both hands and kisses her.

It tastes oddly desperate, to Meira, so after allowing herself to enjoy it for a little while, she eases it back, using her good hand to smooth over Kathleen’s side. “You okay?” She asks softly against Kathleen’s mouth.

Kathleen sucks in a sharp breath. “No. That was a stupid thing to do. This whole thing was a stupid thing to do.” She acknowledges, then closes her eyes. “And I can’t stop thinking that if Mr Jenkins can hold on until the paramedics get here, if Dean manages to find Sam, it’ll have been worth it, so why didn’t I do something this stupid three years ago?” She admits in a rush.

There’s nothing much Meira can say to that, so she just pulls Kathleen in and kisses her again.

* * *

**Hibbing, Minnesota – Saturday 13 th  May 2006 **

Meira walks out of the hospital the next morning with her arm in a sling it doesn’t need to find that Sam and Dean are waiting for her in the lobby, along with Kathleen. Dean snorts at the scrubs she was given to wear since her clothes were kind of ruined, but she forgives him for it when he holds out a bag that turns out to have a change of clothes inside. She ducks into a bathroom to change, and stuffs her rescued coat into the bag. It’s probably unsalvageable, but she wants to _try_ , and to keep it on hand to make fixing up whatever replacement she manages to find easier.

Then they all walk out to the parking lot together, while Sam and Dean regale them with their adventures in the house of horrors, and then Kathleen lets Meira tell a very modified version of their own escapades in the woods. Turns out Dean killed the last adult member of the messed up family, and then nearly got gutted by the little girl.

“So, what’s going to happen to Missy?” Meira asks once they’re done trading stories.

Kathleen huffs out a breath. “Honestly, I still have no idea. She’s probably going to be tried for conspiracy to murder and attempted murder, since we don’t have any proof that she actually killed anyone herself, but given her age and the fact that she was probably indoctrinated into it… I have no idea how it’ll fall out.” She admits.

“What she really needs is a guardian who can kick her ass and has really strong morals.” Meira muses.

“What she really needs is a straight jacket.” Dean grumbles.

“Pride still bruised because she got the drop on you?” Sam asks gleefully.

“Shut up.” Dean counters.

Kathleen huffs out a laugh that’s only half humour. “Well, I suppose I should say thank you. Alvin Jenkins is alive because of you, and hopefully no one else is going to be disappearing.” She says to them, coming to a stop beside her cruiser.

Meira can’t help but notice that she doesn’t, actually, say thank you. “Did you find out if they were responsible for your brother’s disappearance?”

Kathleens eyes fill with tears, but she clears her throat and refuses to let them fall. “We found his car out there, along with several others.” She confirms, looking away from them. “I thought it would be easier, once I knew the truth… but it isn’t, really.” She admits, voice wavering. Then she takes a bracing breath and musters up an entirely fake smile. “Anyway, you should get going.”

Dean and Sam exchange looks before nodding and heading off towards the Impala. Meira doesn’t follow them. “You coming, Meira?” Dean calls.

“Gimme a minute?” Meira requests, and Dean looks between her and Kathleen before snorting and grabbing Sam by the elbow to haul him out of earshot. Kathleen is looking at her with her eyebrows raised in a very stern sort of expression. Meira rethinks offering a hug. “Can I have your number?” She asks instead.

“I don’t think so.” Kathleen tells her at once. Meira pouts. “I’m trying to forget all of this ever happened.” She explains. Meira feels a pang of disappointment, more in Kathleen than for herself, but she tries not to show it. She must fail, though, because Kathleen expression hardens. “I did a little research this morning.” Kathleen tells her. “Do you want to know what comes up in our systems when we search the names ‘Meira’ and ‘Winchester’ together?”

Meira blinks, and then winces. “St Louis?” She asks.

“St Louis.” Kathleen confirms. “Now, I’m not arresting you right now because I’m honestly not sure I _could_ , and because you helped stop the people that-” She nearly chokes and has to swallow before she can continue, but the flinty look in her eyes doesn’t falter. “-that killed my brother. I’m trying _really hard_ to believe that St Louis has a similar explanation, but I can’t come up with anything that explains _that_. So, I’m letting you walk away, but that’s it.”

Smiling sadly, Meira pulls out her phone, and finds the right number, before turning it for Kathleen to see. She gives Meira warning stare, but then ducks down to look. Her eyes widen as she recognises the name of the contact. “Take the number, give Becky a ring, tell her you know me, and that you want the true story.” Meira instructs, and then smirks. “You can compare notes on how well I kiss, too.”

Kathleen clears her throat, and Meira is amused to realise that she’s actually embarrassed. She occupies herself getting her phone out and copying down the number. Once she’s done, she takes a breath, and then forces herself to meet Meira’s gaze. “Get the hell out of here, Winchester.” She instructs.

It hits Meira harder than she ever would have expected, being addressed by her real surname after spending six months denying it. It feels a little like coming home, like slipping into a favourite jumper, like being _known_. “Yes, ma’am.” She replies, tucking her phone away and turning to go. Sam and Dean are waiting by the Impala, and that’s almost starting to feel like coming home, too.


	4. Sound and Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from Shakespeare's Macbeth)

**Chicago, Illinois – Friday 26 th  May 2006 **

“You guys said you were with the alarm company?” The landlady asks as she shows them into Meredith Allen’s apartment. At Dean’s confirmation, she harrumphs. “Well, no offence, but your alarm’s about as useful as boobs on a man.”

“Well, that’s why we’re here.” Dean replies. “To see what went wrong and stop it from happening again.”

“Why you need three of you to get the job done, I don’t know.” The landlady goes on sceptically.

“I’m still training.” Meira tells her with a rueful little smile. “So I get to follow two more experienced engineers around until I’ve got my feet under me.” She explains. The landlady harrumphs again, but Sam neatly distracts her by asking questions about what happened.

Meira listens with half an ear as she scans the apartment. The blood splatters catch her attention and she can’t tear her eyes away. Sam eventually shoos the landlady away so they can investigate properly, and Dean gets his EMF reader out from where he hid it in his toolbox, and starts putting it back together. “So a killer walks in and out of the apartment; no weapons, no prints, nothing.”

“I’m telling you,” Sam says, crouching down beside his brother, “the minute I found that article, I knew this was our kind of gig.”

Yeah, Meira had known too, and she’s still not sure how the hell she’s supposed to handle this. She remembers her dad telling her about this, she’d known the moment she’d put together Chicago with not-a-werewolf murders, and she wishes she could tell Sam and Dean to just leave it. But they won’t, and even if she _could_ tell them that it’s a trap, they still wouldn’t. Not when people are dying and they can help make it stop.

She also knows they survive, so maybe she should just leave well enough alone. Pretend someone called and she has to go help them with something and just bail. The idea turns her stomach, and she knows she won’t, but she still kind of thinks she ought to. But she’s already interfered. Not just in general, though the butterfly effect _could_ change enough to make this a genuine threat, but in this specifically. Meg met her. Meg believes she’s the freaking Antichrist or something, and that could make things very different. Meira’s not sure how, but it could.

So she has to stay and keep an eye on her family, but then she has the problem of Meg. She’s not going to put Dean and Sam at risk to maintain Meg’s belief that she’s playing for the other side, but if she can hold on to that, she’d like to. It feels like too much of an advantage to let go of easily. She might be able to order her to back off, to stop what she’s doing, not that she holds out much hope of that.

Meira’s distracted from her slightly frantic thoughts when Dean starts putting masking tape down over the blood splatters, and she blinks her way back into focus. “What…?” She asks, and then sees what Dean did.

“Ever see that symbol before?” Sam asks once Dean’s done.

“Never.” Dean says.

“It’s demonic.” Meira tells them, even though she’s half way to thinking better of it even as she opens her mouth. Sam and Dean both turn to her curiously. “Really, really old.”

“Demonic?” Dean echoes. “You think this was a demon?”

“Don’t demons normally possess people? Or do you think it possessed Meredith?” Sam wonders, looking around the apartment.

“Not these ones.” Meira tells him, shaking her head. “Daevas don’t take hosts. They don’t need to. They don’t have any sort of identity that needs protecting, they gave that up in the pursuit of even greater power than they already had as demons. Kind of like the pagan gods of Hell, but with less personality.”

“That sounds like fun.” Dean says sarcastically.

“So you think the Daeva… left behind a calling card?” Sam asks, bewildered.

Meira shrugs. It’s not as though she’s ever encountered one herself, just heard her dad’s story about them. She can’t say that, though, because she can’t give any details about said stories, so she lies. “I don’t know, I just read about it in this old book about demonic sigils in my uncle’s library.”

“Guess we gotta put our research hats on, then.” Dean says grimly. “You hit the books, Sammy, me and Meira can check out the place Meredith worked.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You sure you want Meira to go with you?” He asks dryly, and at Dean’s attempt at an innocent look, he gives him a bitch-face. “Don’t think I don’t know why you want bar-trawling duty over book-trawling duty.”

Dean scoffs. “I am a professional, Sam, I am offended-” He stops when Meira bursts out laughing, the worry momentarily beaten back. “Alright, fine.” Dean acknowledges. “There’s gotta be _some_ straight chicks left in the world. I’ll find ‘em.” He insists, heading for the door.

Meira thinks back. “Lori, Haley, Kathleen, Kat.” She lists off. “Oh, and Emily and Cassie. Lynda.”

“Lynda?” Sam asks, frowning.

Meira offers a sad smile. “The real estate agent?” She prompts.

Sam snaps his fingers. “Right. Death by spider-bite.”

“Spider- _bites_ , plural.” Dean corrects with a shudder as they step out of the building. “And why is Kat on that list? She kissed you, I _saw_ her kiss you.” He insists. “When you looked dead on your feet, too.” He grouses.

“She identified as straight up to that point. She’s complained at me over several texts for making her question her identity.” Meira says smugly.

“Stop gloating and come on.” Dean insists, climbing back into the Impala. They grab take-out for dinner on their way back to the motel, and then Meira and Dean head off to the bar where Meredith worked while Sam stays behind with the books. Dean flirts, and Meira flirts, and somewhere in the middle they manage to find out that Meredith was perfectly normal.

Sam joins them a couple hours later, when the bar is really filling up. “So, we talked to the bar-tender.” Dean opens with.

Sam looks up, and then his eyes catch on the napkin in Dean’s hand. He snorts and looks over at Meira. “You let him win this one?”

“Dude.” Dean protests, wounded. “She didn’t _let_ me do anything.”

“She was _tragically_ straight.” Meira agrees mournfully.

Sam rolls his eyes. “The pair of you are _hopeless_. Did you even _ask_ about the case?”

“Of course.” Meira replies, now just as wounded as Dean. “Meredith was, by all accounts, perfectly normal. Nothing weird at all, no strange behaviour or paranoia just before her death, no interest in the occult, no stalkers or enemies or overly aggressive customers.” She reports, and Sam sighs.

“You find anything about Daevas in the books?” Dean asks

“Nothing, unless you count wikipedia.” Sam mutters resentfully. “And that wasn’t exactly _useful_.” Dean snorts his opinion of Wikipedia’s veracity, and Meira bites back her desire to comment that, really, Hunters ought to have a wiki of their own. It’ll happen, one day, and she doesn’t want to give Sam the idea early and risk him never falling in love with Aunt Mia while arguing over how to organise the database. “I guess I’ll just have to… dig deeper, see what-” Sam cuts himself off, focus on something over Dean’s shoulder.

“What?” Dean asks, turning to look. He doesn’t see it, because he doesn’t know what to look for, but Meira does. The pretty blonde with a pixie-cut sitting at a table across the room. Her face is in profile for a moment as she looks over the bar, and yeah, that’s Meg.

Meira sucks in a sharp breath, pretends it’s one of surprise, not alarm, and reminds herself that she has to play this off like she’s just a hunter, running into a friend of the family. Sam heads off into the crowd, and Meira follows, Dean calling after them in confusion. Sam taps Meg on the shoulder once he reaches her, and she turns, breaking into a wide smile when she sees who’s approached her. “Sam! Is that you? Oh my gosh!” She exclaims, standing up and going in for a hug. Over Sam’s shoulder, she catches Meira’s eye. “And Meira, hi.” She greets. “What are you doing here?”

Sam draws back to give her an incredulous look. “You didn’t notice?” Sam asks.

“Notice what?” Meg asks, feigning bewilderment.

“We’re here on a _job_.” Sam tells her. “The ‘stealth killer’ in the papers?” He prompts, with a sideways little smile that mixes amusement with disbelief and expectation. Dean ambles up to hover at Sam’s other shoulder, eyebrows inching higher with every word he hears.

“Oh!” Meg says, eyes widening. “Right, that.” She acknowledges. “I guess that would be your sort of thing, huh?” She asks, glancing over at Meira.

“Yeah.” Sam confirms. “But what are you doing here? I thought you were going to California?”

“Oh, I did. I came, I saw, I conquered.” She waves her fists in the air in a mimicry of a victory cheer. “Oh, and I met what’s-his-name, something MIchael Murray at a bar.” She enthuses.

“Who?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Meg dismisses it with a wave of her hand. Meira is honestly impressed by her acting. “Anyway, the whole scene got old, so I’m living here for a while.” She explains, ignoring Dean clearing his throat pointedly.

“You’re from Chicago?” Sam asks, blatantly leading.

“No, Massachusetts. Andover.” Meg corrects blandly. “Gosh, Sam, what are the odds we’d run into each other?” She asks, all incredulous delight.

“Yeah, I know, I thought we’d never see you again.” Sam admits.

“I was kicking myself for not getting your number.” Meira adds. “I’m usually much better at remembering stuff like that.”

“Oh, well, here.” Meg says, and then rattles off a number that Meira adds to her phone. Dean clears his throat again. “Dude.” Meg says, giving him a disgusted stare. “Cover your mouth.” Dean stares at her, equally incredulous, then gives Sam a pointed look, followed by one for Meira as well.

Sam sheepishly introduces them, and Meg immediately goes off on a tear about how Dean treats Sam, and Meira grimaces. When Dean announces he’s going to get a drink to get out of the conversation, Meira shoots Sam an apologetic look, and follows. “Dude, what the _hell_?” Dean mutters, only half intended for Meira’s ears, as he lingers at the bar.

Meira snorts. “Oh, come on, Dean, isn’t it obvious?” She asks.

Dean squints at her. “Obvious that Sam’s been bitching about me to some random chick? Yeah, but-” He begins, frustrated and hurt.

“No.” Meira counters. “I mean, maybe a little bit, but no, she’s just pissed with you because she wanted Sam to run away with her into the sunset-” Or, into the hellfire, anyway. “-and instead Sam jilted her at the bus stop to rush off to save your ass from a scarecrow.” And she just wants to use whatever she can to drive a wedge between the two of you, Meira thinks but doesn’t say. Not that she’s going to let Meg get away with it.

Dean stares at her. Then he turns away to order a drink, before returning his attention to the conversation. “She’s _jealous_? You’re kidding me.”

“And yeah, maybe Sam was a little bit annoyed at you at the time, but… Dean, you two talked about this, remember? Or, well, Sam tried to talk to you about this, and then your allergy to feelings kicked in and you deflected like an asshole.” She chides lightly.

“Jesus, you’re not pulling your punches, are you?” Dean mutters, not looking at her.

Meira sighs and relents. “I just don’t want to see you getting upset over something pointless. Maybe Sam was a little upset because he felt like you were prioritising your dad’s orders over what Sam wanted-” Dean nearly drops the drink the bartender just handed him, and turns to stare at her again. This time, his shock seems more wounded than incredulous. “-but in the end, he decided that sticking with his family was more important than revenge. That’s what matters, in the end.”

The tension goes out of Dean’s shoulders, and he takes a sip of his beer to cover the moment. “Yeah, I guess.” He grouses. Then he clears his throat. “So, that’s the chick that has- had a crush on your dad?” He asks.

“My qaada.” Meira corrects, because ‘dad’ will always mean Dean, to her.

“Right.” Dean nods distractedly. “How’d she meet him, anyway?”

Meira thinks back to her qaada’s stories. “She was in the right place at the right time to help Qaada out of a trap that had been set for him, if I remember right.” And then she snorts, because wow, that’s true no matter which set of lies she’s telling. “Qaada was impressed with her fortitude.”

“Huh.” Dean says, and that’s when Sam catches up with them, sans Meg. They let Dean finish his drink before they leave, but Meira kind of wishes Sam had insisted they go right away, because the longer they linger, the more twitchy Sam gets, which only undoes all the hard work Meira did getting Dean to relax out of his snit. “So, that was weird.” Sam says once they’re out on the sidewalk, and Meira is reminded that she said almost exactly the same thing the first time they met Meg.

“Yeah?” Dean asks, hard-edged but attentive.

“I don’t know, man.” Sam says, frustrated. “We met Meg _weeks_ ago, literally on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere. And now she just pops up in some random Chicago bar?” He questions pointedly, then glances at Meira. “I thought, maybe she was chasing the same job as us, right, but she acted _oblivious_ , even though she just… happens to be in the bar the latest victim used to work at?”

“Could be a coincidence.” Dean offers, but he doesn’t sound like he believes it.

“I don’t believe in coincidences.” Meira counters.

“Yeah, yeah. So, what do you want to do about it?” Dean asks.

“Just, can you check to see if there’s really a Meg Masters from Andover, Massachusetts?” Sam asks. “And see if- God, it sounds paranoid when I try to say it out loud, but… see if Daevas can maybe be summoned or something?” He suggests.

Dean’s eyebrows fly up to his hairline. “You think this Meg chick is _summoning_ them?”

Sam shrugs helplessly. “She said she knew enough about the supernatural to get herself into trouble.” He points out. “Maybe she thought it would be cool to try, and then lost control of the thing, or maybe…” He doesn’t finish that sentence, but he doesn’t need to.

Dean nods with a grimace. “Yeah, I’ll look, and you keep an eye on her.” He says, and Sam nods, quickly enough that it’s pretty obvious he was already planning to do so. “Even though I swear it’s still my turn to watch the cute girl’s house.” Dean adds petulantly.

“Dude, you got _two_ turns.” Sam counters, amused. “It’s definitely mine or Meira’s turn now.”

“I told you Cassie and Emily didn’t count!” Dean retorts.

“If Lori counts, Cassie and Emily definitely count.” Sam informs him.

Meira snickers. “Flip a coin for it?” She offers Sam. He nods acceptingly, and Meira retrieves a coin from her pocket. “Call it.” She instructs as she flips it.

“Heads.” Sam says once it hits the height of it’s arc and comes spinning back down again. Meira catches it and slaps it onto the back of her other hand before lifting her palm to reveal the coin, showing tails. Meira doesn’t think she’s imagining the fact that Sam looks a little annoyed about that.

Dean claps her on the shoulder. “Good luck.” He says, and then, to Meira’s abject surprise, tosses her the car keys.

She catches them on reflex, and stares at him, wide-eyed and shocked. “D-” Now would be a _really_ bad time to slip up and call him ‘dad’. “Dean?”

“One _scratch_ on my baby, and I’m gonna kick your ass, you hear me?” He tells her sternly, pointing at her. Meira swallows and nods, feeling stupidly moved by the trust Dean’s showing her, even though, technically, he’s trusted her with more not so long ago. But it took her three years after she hit legal driving age and half a dozen off-road challenges before Dad would trust her to drive the Impala, no matter how much she whinged about angel reflexes.

“Thanks, Dean.” Meira says quietly, and gives him a one-armed hug that he endures stoically and totally pretends he doesn’t slip an arm around her to squeeze her back. Then she lets him go before he hits his limit, and jogs for the Impala. The motel is close enough to the bar that she figures Dean intends to walk back, and sure enough, neither he or Sam follow her.

She slides into the driver’s seat with a feeling of giddy privilege filling her up, just as much as the _real_ first time she drove the Impala. She takes a moment just to run her hands over the steering wheel and re-familiarise herself with the car. “Hey, sweetheart.” She says quietly, wondering how far along the Impala’s proto-soul is, and just for a moment, her glee is muted by the loss of not being able to _see_ it, shining away. “I know I’m no Dean, but I promise I’ll take good care of you.” She says, then takes a deep breath and resigns herself to sitting and watching the bar until Meg leaves.

It’s not long, and once she’s hailed a taxi, Meira starts the car and follows her back to her apartment as discretely as she can. Then she parks, and settles in for more waiting. She gets a call from Sam maybe half an hour later, to tell her that Meg’s identity checks out, but that Daeva need to be summoned to reach this plane, which she already knew but pretends not to, and that their dad’s friend Caleb says that it’s really not the sort of thing an amateur would know. You’d have to know exactly what you were looking for to find out how to summon one of these things, and spend a good long while searching for the right info.

“Has Meg done anything?” He asks once he’s done catching her up.

“Gone home, nothing else.” Meira reports, and then changes her answer when the light comes on in Meg’s apartment window. “Oh, no, wait, she’s taking her clothes off with the curtains open, now. Wow, did your background check say if she ever worked as a stripper?”

Sam chokes, and more distantly, Meira can hear Dean ask “What? What’s she saying?”

“No.” Sam says hoarsely. “It didn’t say if she worked as a stripper or not.” There’s a pause, and then Dean bursts out laughing. “I’m hanging up now.” Sam announces, and then does just that. Snickering, Meira puts her phone back in her pocket, just in time to have someone cough pointedly from the passenger side window. Meira looks over to see a middle aged woman glaring reprovingly in at her.

“What are you doing, watching that poor girl?” She asks suspiciously.

Meira sighs, and pulls out one of the fake IDs in the glove compartment, flips it open, and shows off the badge. “Protection detail.” She says, bored, and the woman immediately looks apologetic. “Nice looking out, though.” She adds, before she can actually verbalise the apology. “If there were more people like you in the world, it’d make my job a hell of a lot easier.”

The woman smiles sheepishly. “Good evening, Officer.” She says politely, and continues on her way. Meira turns her attention back to Meg’s building, just in time to see the light flick off again. About five minutes later, Meg appears in the doorway, then crosses the street, and very deliberately meets Meira’s gaze as she changes her trajectory to aim towards the Impala. She leans down to peer into the driver’s side window with a smile. “Are you following me?” She asks.

“Yup.” Meira confirms.

Meg laughs. “They trust you that much, do they?”

“Mhm.” Meira confirms, taking care to make sure her smile doesn’t turn too soft.

Meg makes an amused sound that isn’t _quite_ a laugh, and the straightens. “Well, are you coming or not?” She asks, turning away. Intrigued, and a little bit wary, Meira gets out of the car and falls into step with Meg. “I can’t believe they asked you tail me.” Meg muses, outright chuckling now.

“Me and Sam flipped a coin for the honour.” Meira tells her.

Meg pouts. “Oh, but this would have been so much more fun if it was Sam.”

“What would you have done, if it was?” Meira asks curiously.

“Oh, I would have played along.” Meg says, dutiful but amused. “Pretended not to see him, played oblivious all the way out to where I’m set up, put on a little show for him.”

“Like the one in your apartment?” Meira asks before she can stop herself.

Meg beams. “You noticed?”

“I did.” Meira confirms, laughing. “I figured I was meant to.”

“Well, you or Sam.” Meg agrees with a wicked smirk. “I’m not picky.”

Meira considers that, and then shakes her head, amused. “Pick one.” She suggests. “Or else it’s just gonna get _weird_.”

Meg blinks, startled, before understanding dawns. “Oh. You really think he’s going to be the one, then? For sure?” She asks, a little breathless with something that might be hope.

Weirdly, it kind of breaks Meira’s heart a little. Loyalty like that should only be given to someone who deserves it, and in her opinion, Lucifer really, really doesn’t. “He is the popular bet.” Meira says, not _quite_ confirming, because if Meg isn’t sure, if _Azazel_ isn’t sure, then she doesn’t want to hand them that and risk them changing their plans.

“I’ll have to take care not to break him when I’m playing with him, then.” Meg decides.

Well, Meira’s not going to argue against _that_. “So, fill me in here, what exactly is this about?” Meira wonders. Meg glances at her, frowning a little. “I get that it’s a trap.” Meira offers, feigning amusement, and watching Meg grin with mischief that’s far too close to malice. “I’m just a little hazy on the _why_. It’s not time to start testing them yet, is it?”

“Oh, no.” Meg assures her. “No, it’s not a trap for Sam and Dean.”

Meira thinks about that for a moment, thinks about pretending ignorance, and then decides she doesn’t really need to, it’s kind of obvious even without the benefit of her dad’s stories. “This is all for John, isn’t it?” She pretends to realise.

“Mhm.” Meg hums, tucking her hands into her pockets and putting a little extra bounce in her step. “John Winchester is making something of a nuisance of himself. My father wants him… out of the way, sooner, rather than later.”

Meira nods her understanding, and Meg shows her into a condemned old building in the process of being torn down, then up the stairs to the floor where she’s set up an altar. Meira looks it over, and decides most of it is purely for show. The rest is for summoning, not binding. She keeps staring at it as she tries to work out what the hell she’s going to do. She certainly can’t tell Sam and Dean the _truth_ about what Meg did, because that would mean admitting that Meg thinks she’s on her side. It would mean admitting she knows the _demon_ , not the person she's wearing.

She shakes herself, and turns to consider Meg instead. She looks back, surprised, and then nervous, although she hides it well. “I just realised, I never asked, what’s your name?”

Meg’s mouth opens, but she doesn’t manage to find an answer right away. “I-” She begins, and then falters, looking genuinely perturbed. “I don’t remember it anymore.” She admits finally, shrugging like it’s no big deal, although it clearly is.

“Would you like a new one?” Meira asks. Offers, really.

Meg seems thrown, again, but she nods, a little tentative, but willing. “Sure, yeah.”

“If you don’t mind me taking inspiration from your host…” Meira begins, and when Meg’s only reaction is to cock her head curiously, she goes on; “How about Megaera?”

“Like the fury of myth?” Meg, or maybe Megaera now, asks, smiling slow and bemused. “Yes, I think I like that.” She says, and she even sounds puzzled.

“Good.” Meira says, and doesn’t say anything else of what she’s thinking. Which is that names have power, and stealing a name isn’t going to do anyone much good. It might have given her a shoddy template of humanity to work off of later, if she cared to look, but having her own name will help a lot more, leave a lot more room for self-definition, if, or when, Meira can convince her to give it a go. “Then it is yours, wholly and entirely.”

 _That_ startles her, and Megaera straightens, wide eyed and shocked. Because no demon would ever, _ever_ relinquish the power naming another would grant them, not if they could help it, but Meira isn’t a demon. Wouldn’t be, even if she was what she’s pretending to be. “I don’t…” Megaera begins. Meira’s pretty sure ‘understand’ is the word that’s meant to follow that, but instead, Megaera swallows it, and instead says “Thank you?” Like she’s heard somewhere that that’s what you’re supposed to say.

Meira’s kind of proud of her for even that much, though. “So, what should I tell Sam and Dean that I saw you doing?” She asks, shrugging the gratitude off because she doesn’t want to draw too much attention to it.

Megaera steps up beside her in front of the altar and gestures at the goblet of blood, human blood Meira’s pretty sure, which turns her stomach a little. “Reporting in. I was going to play up being all worried because they’re here, telling Father that he shouldn’t come because of them, and then being chastised and promising to wait for him.” She explains. “Hopefully they’re not so stupid that they won’t be able to put together demons, the victims all being from Kansas, and _this_ -” She gestures at the black altar. “-and figure out that this has something to do with their precious mommy.”

Meira remembers Mary, telling Dean she was proud of him, and telling Sam she was sorry, and then she wonders at the hypocrisy of mocking someone for their attachment to a parent right after referring to her own ‘father’ with such respect. But then, she reminds herself ruefully, empathy is something a demon has to learn, and they have to want to learn it before they can even begin. “Alright.” She agrees, nodding. “I think I can manage that.” Megaera grins.

They walk back to the Impala together in a comfortable silence, and Meira heads for the driver’s side door, trailing a hand over the hood as she goes. Before she can do more than open the door, though, Megaera says “You actually like this car, don’t you?”

Meira glances at her, then realises what she just did, and smiles sheepishly. “It’s such a pretty car.” She agrees, not bothering to hide the appreciation.

Megaera grins. “Maybe once this is over, you’ll be able to keep it. Spoils of war, and all that.” She suggests. Meira makes an agreeing, hopeful sort of expression and absolutely doesn’t point out that if Lucifer wins and humanity goes, cars are likely to go along with them. She climbs in, and Megaera leans down to peer in the window again. “See you soon.” She says with a wink.

“Yeah.” Meira agrees with a snort, and Meg snickers as she backs off enough to give Meira room to drive off. The motel isn’t far away, but it’s still enough time for Meira to wonder, again, what the hell she’s going to tell Sam and Dean. She doesn’t even care if it makes Megaera suspicious, if she can convince Sam and Dean this is a trap and that they should leave, she will. She thinks that over for a moment as she comes to a stop at a red light, and then drops her forehead onto the steering wheel. Sam and Dean won’t leave. Not even if they realise this is a trap. People are dying, and people will keep dying if they don’t spring this trap, and they won’t be able to live with that on their conscience.

Reluctantly, Meira lifts her head and keeps driving once the light turns green. So, Sam and Dean are going to do this, no matter what she says. How can she make sure they go into this _prepared_? Well, figuring out how to kill a Daeva without the handy cheat of grace and holy wrath would be a good start, but Meira can’t remember her dad ever mentioning actually killing the things. An Enochian exorcism might work, and she thinks she remembers light being an effective repellent in her dad’s story. It’s not a lot, but for now, it’ll have to do.

Meira arrives back at the motel and heads into Sam and Dean’s room to find them both sitting at the table looking sombre. Meira tosses the keys to Dean, who catches them automatically. “Not a scratch, I promise.” She assures him.

Dean almost manages a smile. “I’ll be checking.” He warns her, tucking the keys into his pocket absently. “So, you’re back early.” He adds, raising an eyebrow. “Something interesting happen?”

“Boy, did it.” Meira agrees, dropping down with a huff onto one of the beds. “Meg decided to go for a walk right after you called.” She begins, and sees both of their eyebrows shoot up. “I followed her to this condemned building, where she has an altar set up on the top floor.”

“An altar?” Sam echoes.

Meira nods. “I checked it out, after she left, and she had that Daeva symbol painted out, on a mirror, in blood. I think it’s safe to say she’s the one summoning them.”

“Is that what she was doing tonight?” Sam asks, alarmed. “Is there going to be another death tonight?” He looks a few seconds away from grabbing a weapon and bolting, and Meira sighs, resigning herself to telling the lie.

“No, I would have led with that, if it was.” Meira tells him, and he nods, relaxing a little and sharing a look with Dean before staring at Meira expectantly. She resigns herself to telling the lie. “She was talking to someone, getting orders. Through a bowl of blood. Human, I expect.” She adds darkly, watching Sam and Dean pull faces. “I’ve heard of a spell that works like that, so, yeah.”

“Orders.” Sam repeats.

Meira nods, then catches another significant look between Sam and Dean. “What?” She asks.

“So, I uh, called in a favour with Amy, the cop.” Dean explains, managing something almost approaching a suggestive smile. “Got the full files on our two victims, and it turns out there is a connection.” He explains, patting the files on the table. Meira gets up to have a look, even though she knows what’s coming. “So, first vic lived here all his adult life, but he grew up-”

Meira finds the relevant line. “Lawrence, Kansas.”

Dean nods, and pulls out the other file from underneath the first. “Meredith, it turns out, was adopted. Guess where she was born.”

“Lawrence, Kansas.” Meira reads off the file. She sits back down again, feeling sick. “Is it just me, or is this way too convenient?” She asks, because, hell, if she’s going to have to play along with Megaera’s lie, she might as well make sure Sam and Dean go in with their guard up.

“Convenient?” Dean wonders.

“The whole damn thing.” Meira replies. “Right from the start. Meg showing up in the bar, and baiting you, and then leaving her curtains open when she’s changing? In _Chicago_ ? I mean, if you’ve lived in the woods your whole life, that’s one thing, but… And now victims that have _nothing_ in common, nothing to do with the occult, no other profile that makes them targets _except_ they’re from your hometown? I don’t know, the whole thing just feels staged.”

“You think this is a trap.” Dean concludes grimly.

Meira shrugs. “Maybe, yeah.”

They sit in silence for a moment, then Sam jerks to his feet to pace. “Whoever she was talking to, do you think…” He trails off, then turns to stare at his brother meaningfully. “Do you think it could be the demon? The one that killed mom?”

“Can’t see any other reason for Meg to do this.” Dean agrees, tapping his fist against the still open files. “Well, I think it’s time we went and had a friendly little chat with Meg, see what she knows.” He says abruptly, getting to his feet. “If this is a trap, let’s spring it.”

“Dean…” Sam says slowly, and Dean turns to stare at him, eyebrows raised. “Do you think we should call Dad, tell him what’s happening?” He asks.

“The hell?” Dean asks, blinking rapidly.

Sam frowns at him. “What? It makes sense, doesn’t it? If this is connected to the demon that killed mom, don’t you think he’d want to be here?” He asks, and then looks faintly sour. “I would, if it was Dad that found the trail.”

“We’re not leading Dad into a _trap_ , Sam.” Dean chides.

Sam rolls his eyes. “We’d tell him it’s a trap, obviously.” He says impatiently, then throws up his hands. “But, fine, whatever. Paying him back in kind is good with me, too. But can we do the interrogation in the morning? I’m wiped, and I don’t feel like confronting someone who can control _shadow demons_ in the middle of the night.”

“Point.” Dean acknowledges, still looking like Sam just up and slapped him. Sam heads into the bathroom with what passes as pyjamas for him. Dean shakes his head and scrubs a hand back through his hair, looking torn. “Do you think our dad ought to be here for this?” He asks Meira.

Startled to be addressed over what is clearly a family issue, Meira takes a moment to think about it. “Well… yeah, I guess I do.” She says, and Dean looks just as surprised as when Sam suggested it in the first place. “But if you’re asking if I think you should call him, then no.”

“How does that make any sense?” Dean demands.

“He should’ve been here already, with his family, but he’s not, and that’s his choice. We can handle it, and it’d serve him right to miss out on the fun, and if on the slim chance that we can’t handle it, well, serves him right for _not_ being here.” Meira says.

Dean gapes at her for a moment. “Christ, the two of you!” He exclaims, and then grabs his phone up off the table. Meira blinks twice, before realising what he’s doing as he raises the phone to his ear. It rings through to voicemail, and Dean sighs. “Hey, Dad. Looks like we’ve caught a lead on the thing that killed mom. Pretty sure it’s a trap, honestly, but people are dying, so we’re going to see if we can’t turn the tables on them. Figured you ought to know. We’re in Chicago, and we think this woman called Meg Masters might be working for the demon, so we’re going to see what we can get out of her.” Dean rattles off Meg’s address, dutifully reporting all the information as succinctly as possible. “But it might be best if you steered clear of this one. Just wanted to keep you in the loop. I’ll call again if we get any intel.”

Meira isn’t sure whether she wants to laugh or cry. On the one hand, even though Dean was clearly trying to do right by his dad, that message sounds like the best poke in the eye to John’s disappearing act Meira could imagine. On the other hand, John is the intended target, and now he knows his sons are being used as bait. Meira partly doesn’t want him to show up, because even though she knows everyone got away fine in her dad’s story, her dad’s story also included a warehouse battle at night, not a daylight interrogation. Who knows what might change from that alone. But Meira thinks she might just upgrade from wanting to punch him to wanting to stab him if he _doesn’t_ show up to help out when his sons are in danger from the same thing that killed his wife.

Sam and Dean switch places when Sam emerges from the bathroom. “You okay there, Meira?” Sam asks, slinging himself into bed.

“Mm.” Meira agrees unconvincingly. “I think I’m going to try and get a little bit more research done before I hit the hay.” She tells him, heading for the laptop. “You don’t mind if I hang out in here, right?” She checks.

Sam shakes his head. “Just so long as Dean’s snoring won’t bother you.” He says, smirking.

“I do no’ shnore!” Dean yells around his toothbrush.

Meira gives Sam a knowing look. “It’s okay. My uncle snores so loud you can hear it two rooms away. Snored.” She corrects, booting the laptop up again. It’s funny, because Sam, this Sam not her uncle Sam, doesn’t snore. She wonders, absently, why it changed.

“Why do you still do that?” Sam asks, soft and tentative, and when Meira looks up, his expression says clearly that he kind of wishes he hadn’t asked. At her quizzical look, he clears his throat with a grimace and tries to explain. “It’s just… it’s been months, half a year, and you still… It still catches you off-guard, every time, the tenses.”

Meira almost laughs. Almost, but she doesn’t. She just shrugs and looks away. “Maybe it’s because I didn’t see any bodies, so there’s a corner of my brain that still thinks… _maybe…_ ” Sam sucks in a sharp breath. “I mean, Pabbi’s still alive right? Maybe they’re just… out there somewhere, hiding out.”

Sam’s quiet for long enough that Dean comes out of the bathroom and gets into bed. “Maybe they are.” Sam offers quietly.

Meira’s heart gives an entirely unfair pang. Because they _are_ still there, her dad, and her uncle, and her qaada. Even all her granddads are out there, somewhere. Jace isn’t, though, and none of them are _really_ her family, not yet, so maybe that’s why it hurts, to hear someone who _isn’t_ her uncle Sam telling her maybe. “Thanks, Sam.” She says with a smile that she’s sure won’t convince anyone. “G’night.” She adds, and she keeps it gentle, but it’s still a clear sign that she doesn’t want to continue the conversation. Then she turns to the laptop and starts researching how to kill Daevas.

* * *

**Chicago, Illinois – Saturday 27 th  May 2006 **

After five hours of researching, Meira has discovered that no one knows. An angel blade is pretty much the only guarantee Meira can think of, and that’s not exactly available at the moment. They can be warded off with intense light. Daylight weakens them, but only _weakens_ them. If it’s overcast, if there’s a particularly strong shadow in bright sunlight, they can still manifest. They can be banished, as their absence from the world until recently proves, but Meira can’t find any clues on how it was done before or how it might be done again. It’s another of those moments where she hates the binding on her grace for entirely pointless reasons, but can’t help herself.

She ends up so deep down the rabbit hole, searching for anything, even the weirdest theories the internet can provide, that the next time she looks up, it’s dawn. Sam and Dean are still asleep, so she scribbles out a quick note, and then goes shopping. It takes a little while to find everything she’s looking for, so by the time she gets back, Sam and Dean are up and making preparations of their own.

“There you are.” Dean says. “What’d you need so bad?”

“Flares, flash-bangs, the brightest torch I could find.” Meira replies with a shrug. “I couldn’t find out how to banish them, but they’re called shadow demons, so I figured…” She trails off uselessly.

“Good thinking.” Dean says, mildly impressed. Meira smiles faintly, and tosses him a handful of her supplies. The she hands some off to Sam, too, and they all start packing their weapons into bags or strapping them onto their person. They’re going to try and catch Megaera is broad daylight, so they can’t be too conspicuous, but Meira doesn’t like the idea of not having her weapons on her.

“You know, I’ve been thinking.” Sam begins, and Dean hums to show he’s listening. “What if we turned this around on the demon?” He suggests, which catches Dean’s attention, and he looks up, frowning. “They’re trying to trap us, right? Well, what if we used Meg as bait to trap the demon?” He asks, sounding strangely feverish. “Lure it to us so we can _get_ the damned thing.”

“Whoa, hold up there, Sammy.” Dean says at once. Sam pulls a face, but does stop talking. “For one thing, what makes you think a demon would care about some mortal dabbler enough to come for her if we, what? Kidnap and torture her?” Sam grimaces and looks away, visibly surrendering. “For another thing, dude, we’re so not ready for that, it’s not even funny. That is not the sort of thing you pull off spur-of-the-moment. Let’s not go getting ahead of ourselves here, okay?”

Sam sighs. “Yeah, I know, I just… God, the idea that we might actually be able to _get_ this thing, that it could be _over_ in, hell, a few _days_ if we played this right? Man, can you even imagine? I’d sleep for a month.” He sighs in clear longing. “Go back to school-” Dean goes stiff, and Meira closes her eyes in dawning dread. “-be a person again.”

Now it’s Meira’s turn to go still, feeling oddly insulted. Sure, she might not have _chosen_ to live the nomadic hunter lifestyle when she _had_ a settled home to return to, but she’s not _less of a person_ right now than she ever was before. She might be less powerful, less grand, even less versatile, but she’s certainly not less _herself_ . It’s not as though she thinks of her dad as lesser, just because he lives this way, or her uncle, even though he _clearly_ thinks that of himself.

Now she realises, with a moment of stunned clarity, why her uncle never came along on her dad’s hunting road-trips with them. He’d knuckle down and fight if something came knocking, and he’d help out with intel and research if someone called, but he’d never go looking. Content to stay home and work on his cases or get tangled up in the library.

“You wanna go back to school?” Her dad asks, knocking her out of her shocked revelation with his carefully bland tone that says there is very definitely a right and a wrong answer to that question, but Dean absolutely doesn’t want Sam to know which is which.

“Yeah, once we’re done hunting this thing.” Sam confirms, bewildered. Meira can’t believe he sounds that way, that he can’t see this train-wreck coming. That he only just _starts_ to catch the warning signs when Dean makes a small ‘huh’ noise. “What? Is there something wrong with that?”

“Nah.” Dean says, clearly lying. “No, it’s, uh, great. Good for you.”

Meira wants this conversation to stop happening right now. Or if that’s not possible, then at least she’d like to not be present for it. She tries to console herself with the knowledge that it’s not actually as bad as when Dad and Pabbi really get into it, but she doesn’t convince herself. “I mean…” Sam begins, still baffled, and Meira stops trying to blend in with the background long enough to turn and stare at him. “What are you going to do when it’s all over?”

“It’s never gonna be over.” Dean spits out, too quick. “There’s gonna be others. There’s always gonna be something to hunt.”

“But there’s gotta be something you want for yourself-” Sam entreats.

Dean pushes away from the table roughly. “Yeah, I don’t want you to leave the second this thing’s over, Sam!” He snaps, turning his back on them. And there it is, Meira thinks wryly. Her dad’s number one button, the threat of being left behind.

“Dude, what’s your problem?” Sam asks, and Meira finds she has to move too, or she’s going to start blurting out things she has no right to say and no excuse for knowing. Though, whether she wants to explain things in minute detail to Sam or start reassuring Dean, she’s not actually sure. Unfortunately, it catches Sam’s attention, and then, oh, god, _why_ , he decides to drag her into the conversation. “It’s not like you’ll be hunting alone, right? You’ll have Meira with you.”

“Meira’s not my _brother_!”

Meira recoils. It shouldn’t hurt, she tells herself, even as her throat goes tight and her hands start to shake. It shouldn’t, but it _does_ . All her life, even before she was fully cognizant, she knew that she was the most important person in her dad’s life. One of, once Jace arrived, but still. To Dad, to Qaada, to Pabbi, she and Jace _always_ came first, and they made sure she and Jace always knew that. And she knows this Dean _isn’t_ her dad, hasn’t got a single reason to even consider putting her above his baby brother, but the implication that she’s not, and could never be, on the same level as family is still enough to make her feel more alone and scared than she has since she was facing off with a wendigo in the wilderness.

He didn’t say ‘Meira’s not family’ or ‘Meira’s not important’, but he might as well have, because that’s what he means. Compared to Sam, her presence is immaterial. She thought she’d been getting better about not conflating this Dean with her dad, but apparently not, because it lodges in her chest like a knife.

Sam and Dean both turn to look at her, and she hitches up a smile that hurts. “I should probably give you two a minute to sort this out, huh?” She asks, and turns to go before she does something stupid like actually start crying. And god, there was a time, or will be a time, when she wouldn’t even hesitate to cry in front of her dad.

“Meira-!” Dean says, bitten off and frustrated and guilty.

Meira shakes her head. “No, don’t- it’s not-” She takes a breath. “It’s okay, Dean, I get it.” She says carefully, voice measured, not looking around. “My family’s dead-” She’s never actually said that before, because it’s always felt like a lie, but it doesn’t, right now, and it makes the word waver as it leaves her lips. “-but yours isn’t.” She wants to say more, wants to explain, but she can’t find words past the lump in her throat, so she just shakes her head again. “I’ll wait by the car.” She steps out and closes the door behind her, but that’s not enough to block her grace-enhanced hearing.

“Nice going, Dean.” Sam sighs.

“What do you want me to say, Sam?” Dean demands, rough and aggressive. “It’s not that I just want _company_ , okay, like anyone would do, like I could swap you out for a stranger and that would be just as good.”

“Meira’s not a stranger.” Sam insists, before Meira can tone down her hearing out of self-defence. “Dude, you let her drive the Impala yesterday. She might not be family, but she’s as good as.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t swap you out for _Dad_ , either. It’s not-” Dean bites out. “I just want us to be a family again, Sam. You, and me, and Dad. And hell, yeah, okay, Meira too, now, damn it.”

“Dean, we are a family.” Sam insists gently. “We’ll always be family, but things will never be like they were before.” He snorts, suddenly amused. “You wouldn’t even want them to be, not really.”

“What? Of course I do!” Dean protests.

Sam actually laughs at that. “Oh, come on, Dean. You want to be stuck in a car with me and Dad _and Meira_ for _hours_? Just picture that for a second.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and then Dean gives a rusty chuckle. “I’d take it.” He says thickly. “I’d take that, over an empty car.” Meira closes her eyes and walks away from the door. She hears Sam say his brother’s name, but she finally pulls her grace away from her hearing and leans back against the hood of the Impala to wait.

She hurts, a tight ache all the way through her chest. It’s a little bit better, after hearing Dean say he does want her to stick around, but she still misses her dad. Sniffing irritably, she wipes away the few tears that have escaped, and forces herself to get her head in the game. She can’t dwell on this when they have a job to do and Megaera might even be watching.

Sam and Dean don’t keep her waiting long. Dean, true to his word, inspects the Impala from hood to trunk, circling her twice before giving a satisfied nod, and then tossing the keys over the roof to Meira. She catches them with a grin, the tightness in her chest easing, because she knows an apology, Dean Winchester style, when she sees one.

She drives them to Megaera’s apartment, which is pretty easy to break into. They catch Megaera sprawled out on the couch in the living room, idly flipping through channels on the TV. She startles as they burst inside, eyes going very wide. “Sam! What are you _doing_?!” She yelps, starting to scramble upright before three guns are trained on her, and she freezes. “Sam?” She asks, voice wavering. It’s very convincing.

“Drop the act, Meg.” Sam snaps. “We know you’ve been summoning the daeva to kill people.”

Megaera holds the frightened pose for a second longer, then smirks and drops bonelessly back onto the couch. “Daevas. Plural.” She corrects smugly.

“There is something seriously wrong with you.” Dean accuses, disgusted, as he circles the couch slowly to get a better angle on Megaera, gun never wavering. “So, here’s how this is going to go. We’re going to ask you a few questions, and you’re going to answer them, and that way you might get to walk away from this without a bullet in your skull.”

Megaera opens her mouth, then closes it again, looking mutinous. “Who, or what, are you working for?” Sam asks.

“And don’t bother to pretend you don’t know what we’re talking about, we heard you talking to them- to _it_ last night.” Dean adds, before Megaera can even open her mouth. She blinks once at him, smirking like she’s biting back laughter.

“Fine. Since you seem to know everything already, what do you need me for?” Megaera retorts.

“Why would you start working for a demon, anyway?” Sam asks her through a grimace.

Megaera’s eyes narrow, and then she flicks a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it glance at Meira. “ _Why_?” She echoes incredulously. “The same reasons you do. Love. Loyalty. Meira’s qaada showed me a whole new world, but _my_ father was the one who found a path for us, a quest. You can understand that, can’t you, boys?” She coos at them.

“How do you banish daeva?” Dean demands.

Megaera lights up in malicious delight. “You don’t _know_.” She throws her head back and laughs, then tips her head towards Dean. “So, _why_ should I tell you?”

“Maybe so I don’t _shoot you_?” Dean fires back, scathing.

Megaera chuckles at him, shaking her head indulgently. “Not very quick on the uptake, are you?” She asks, all mocking condescension, hand coming up to play with her necklace. “You’re not the one with the biggest weapon here, Dean.” She chides, as a shadow looms large on the wall behind Dean. Next thing Meira knows, bloody furrows are being dug into the meat of his shoulder as he gets tossed across the room into the television, which shatters with an almighty crash, electronics spitting and sparking.

“Dean!” Meira and Sam shout together, Meira lunging for Dean, while Sam is the next to go flying. As he crashes into the wall, something drops from his hand, and Meira has barely a second to realise what it is before the bang goes off and a bright flash of light illuminates the room, painting stark shadows across the wall and making the daevas hiss and screech. Meira watches, even though her eyes start to water and ache for a brief moment, to see what, exactly, happens to the daevas. The shadows appear to disintegrate, but Meira’s more interested in the faint hints of _something_ , like a heat-haze in the vague shape of a person standing in the middle of the room, rippling away into nothing.

“No!” Megaera shouts, sounding genuinely wrathful.

Meira takes a step sideways, putting herself between Megaera and Dean while Sam pushes himself up with help from the wall. He looks more victorious than hurt, so she isn’t going to worry too much about him right now. Meira levels her own gun at Megaera. “What was that you were saying about whose weapon was biggest?” She asks, light and wicked. “Because now that your little daevas have been banished, I’d say it’s mine.”

Megaera smirks up at her. “They won’t be gone for long, and you’re going to run out of toys sooner or later.” She says, unperturbed.

“Then what’s to stop us from just shooting you right now, you bitch?” Dean asks as he pulls himself out of the wreckage of the TV.

“I’m the only thing keeping them from going on a rampage, you moron.” Megaera retorts, smug and vicious, swinging her legs off the couch and sitting up properly at last. “Kill me, and people will start dropping like flies.” She shrugs as Dean comes to stand at Meira’s shoulder, then her face splits into a wide, mean smile. “And you don’t know how to banish them yourselves. Check and _mate_.” She declares, before her smile drops suddenly into a cold hatred. “So I’ll thank you to stop pointing those guns at me. Or would you like me to start with my next-door neighbour?”

Slowly, glaring death at Megaera the entire time, Dean lowers his gun, and after a beat, Sam and Meira do the same. Meira’s mind is racing a mile a minute, because right now, their _only_ hope of getting out of this trap is to make a best guess at what can kill a Daeva and _pray_ that they’re right.

“There we go.” Megaera coos at them, toying with her necklace again.

“What do you even want with us?” Sam demands. “What was the _point_ of all this?”

“Whatever makes you think I want something with _you_?” Megaera retorts, crossing her legs casually and reclining like a queen on her throne.

“Oh, come off it.” Dean scoffs. “We know you were baiting us. You kind of over-played your hand there.” He tells her scathingly.

“And yet, here you are, right where I want you.” Megaera replies cheerfully. Then she squints in mockery of contemplation. “I can’t quite work out if that makes you _more_ or less _stupid_. What am I talking about? This is you, so let’s go with more.”

Sam groans. “This wasn’t a trap for us at all.” He realises bitterly, and Megaera starts to smile again. “We’re the bait.” He concludes.

“Dad.” Dean realises through gritted teeth.

“Well _done_.” Megaera croons, then lifts a hand to beckon him closer with an enticing curl of her finger. “Sam wins the prize. Why don’t you come over here and collect it?” Sam sets his jaw and glares, not moving. Megaera’s smile drops. “Think of the neighbours, Sam.” She says quietly, and Sam’s eyes go wide.

“You’d kill people just to- to-” Sam splutters, horrified.

“To make you do what I want? To prove to you that right now, you’re my bitch? Absolutely.” Megaera confirms dismissively. “Now come here. I won’t ask again.”

Meira closes her eyes, distracted from her thoughts about how to kill daevas by a sudden and very intense desire to kill Megaera instead. It’s sickening, because she’d been foolish enough to think of her like Crowley, who’d had all of Meira’s life and then some to gain at least a facsimile of empathy. Megaera is a demon, through and through, no matter what she could become in the future, and right now, she’s threatening innocent lives in order to violate Meira’s family.

“Alright.” Sam says levelly. Meira’s eyes flash open to see him walking across the room. “Where do you want me?” He asks, tone impressively deadpan and laced with anger. Megaera grins toothily at the question, and uncrosses her legs to pat her lap invitingly.

“ _Sam_.” Dean barks out, half angry, half worried.

“Shut up, Dean.” Sam says through gritted teeth. “What the hell else am I supposed to do?”

Dean clearly doesn’t have an answer, and he looks away in furious disgust as Sam lowers himself to straddle Megaera’s lap. Megaera hums happily and draws him in to kiss him. Meira’s fingers twitch with the desire to summon her blade and start smiting, because she’s pretty sure even daevas wouldn’t be able to stand up to an archangel, but she’d start with Megaera. It sends a little spasm of pain up Meira’s arm as the instinct almost overrides her knowledge of what would happen if she seriously tried to manifest her grace outside herself.

Sam suddenly hurls himself off Megaera’s lap, rolling over the arm of the sofa and onto his feet in a crouch to the tune of her outraged cry. Her hand flies to her throat, which is bare. Furious realisation dawns just as Sam holds up the amulet he stole from her. “No!” Megaera shouts again, this time terrified rather than angry. “Give that-” She begins, reaching out, but before she can, something tears into her arm, great scratches ending in much deeper puncture marks. “ _No_!”

Sam clenches the amulet in one fist. “Stop.” He orders firmly.

For one brief moment, Meira thinks it’s going to work, and then hissing fills the room. It takes her a second to realise that it’s laughter. Megaera is flung out the window by an invisible force, and she screams on the way down. For dramatic effect, Meira assumes, since that fall isn’t going to do much to a demon. The shadows swoop after her.

“Time for a strategic retreat?” Sam suggests, eyeing the window and looking nauseated.

“They’re weakened by daylight.” Meira tells him. “So we probably have until tonight to figure out how to kill or banish them.”

“Great.” Dean huffs. “Let’s get the hell out of here before the police show up.”

They leave the building through the back, since there’s already a crowd gathering around Meg’s body on the pavement. Sam looks over as they drive past, and Meira can see his agonised expression in profile. “Why didn’t the amulet work? I was _sure_ it was how she was controlling them.” Sam says as the scene disappears around a corner.

“It was.” Meira confirms. “But it takes a lot of practice and willpower to work a binding like that.” And, especially with demons, it takes an ability and willingness to utterly dominate another living creature that Sam just doesn’t have right now. “A purification ritual and binding a two-thousand year old demon-god are a long way off from each other.”

Sam sighs heavily. “Yeah. I guess I should keep trying then.” He muses, looking down at the amulet in his palm.

“Dude, if you summon those things into my car, we’re going to have issues.” Dean warns.

Meira snorts and leans forwards over the back of the front seats, arms folded across the gap between Sam and Dean’s shoulders. “Confidence is the key to all magic, Sam.” Meira tells him. “That’s why bindings are so difficult. You have to _know_ , right down to your gut and your bones and your soul, that they _cannot_ disobey you.”

Sam doesn’t look happy to hear that, and he gives the amulet a long look, as if staring at it might unlock its secrets. Then he holds it out to Meira. “Do you think you’d have better luck?” He asks.

“Might do.” Meira acknowledges slowly, taking the amulet and turning it over in her hands. It’s heavy and cold against her skin, despite being in Sam’s fist for the last few minutes. Meira bends her will to command the daevas not to attack anyone, but there’s no way to tell if it works. “I’m not going to try calling them here to see if it’s working, at least… not until we have a way to stop them.” She says to Sam. “But I _am_ pretty confident, so fingers crossed they’re not going to hurt anyone, now.” Meira says, and Sam snorts.

“Yeah, how _are_ we going to stop them, anyway?” Dean asks as they near the motel. “There wasn’t anything on how to stop them in Dad’s journal, or any of our other books. Caleb knows what they are, but he didn’t say anything about how to kill them.”

“Internet was useless,” Meira adds, “but I have some ideas.”

“Yeah?” Dean ask, but at that point they’re already pulling into the motel parking lot. “Tell us inside, I’ll order lunch.” He adds hauling himself out of the car and heading inside, already on the phone to a nearby pizza place. Meira and Sam follow.

One step into the room has Meira on high alert. The room is cloaked in shadow, the curtains drawn against the early afternoon sunlight, and there’s a figure standing beside the window. Meira has her gun up and a flare in her other hand immediately. “Hey.” Dean says, phone dropping to his pocket to be replaced with his own weapon, while Sam fumbles for a gun.

Then the figure turns, and Dean freezes. “Dad.”

Oh. Meira lowers her gun with a sigh and tucks the flare back in her pocket. “Hey, boys.” John Winchester greets. Dean crosses the room and hugs his dad, who meets him half way. Sam follows in his brother’s wake, and Meira lingers by the door, trying not to intrude. “Hi, Sam.” John says, and gets a quiet reply but no hug from Sam. “And who’s your friend?” He asks, glancing over at Meira.

“Meira. Meira Novak.” Sam introduces quickly. “She’s a hunter, she’s been helping us out the last few months. Meira, this is our dad, John.” He adds, beckoning her over.

“Nice to meet you.” John says, holding out a hand. Meira hesitates, but then recognises that punching an armed hunter square in the face when he’s already on edge from nearly being lured into a trap is a bad idea, so she shakes his hand. “Christo.” John says while he still has hold of her fingers.

Meira smiles a bullshit smile. “The feeling’s mutual.” She tells him, and doesn’t bother to explain whether she means it in reply to what he said, or to his blatant suspicion.

“Did you get anything out of that Meg girl?” John asks, turning to Dean, who shakes his head regretfully. “I assume she was the one who took the swan dive?”

“Yes, sir.” Dean says, and Meira tries not to twitch.

“And she _was_ working for the demon?”

“She _gloated_ about it.” Sam confirms bitterly.

John nods once, unsurprised. “That doesn’t surprise me.” He says drolly. “How’d you dodge the trap?” He asks, lips twitching towards a smile. “It was a trap, wasn’t it?” He checks, although there’s no doubt in his voice at all.

“For you, not us.” Dean tells him, something awfully like shame colouring his voice.

John nods again. “I figured. It’s tried to stop me before.”

“The demon has?” Sam asks.

“It knows I’m close, it knows I’m gonna kill it. Not just exorcise it, or send it back to hell.” John declares. “Actually kill it.”

“How?” Dean asks.

John smiles mysteriously. “I’m working on that.”

Meira rolls her eyes, and her irritation gets the better of her. “A mixture of holy oil, sage, and myrrh applied to any metal weapon under the light of a comet, although iron would be best and silver would be an acceptable substitute, finished up with a binding and a blessing. Or celestial steel works.” She smiles into the face of John’s blatant shock. “Or, if you’re more dark side, you could try a phosphor-bronze knife forged in hellfire, anointed in demon blood and sulphur, sharpened on the bones of the righteous.”

“How could you _possibly_ know that?” John asks incredulously.

“She’s an encyclopedia.” Sam offers, faintly amused.

“My uncle had a big library of supernatural books. I read a lot.” Meira tells him bluntly, and sees, to her surprise, John’s eyes narrow.

“Your uncle?” He asks mildly. “Also a Novak?”

Meira frowns at him. “No.” She says truthfully, and then half-lies. “A Renaldi.”

John’s eyebrows fly up. “You’re European?”

“No, I’m from Colorado. My aunt was from Europe.” More lies.

“Your uncle took his wife’s name?”

Meira gives John a scathing look for his tone. “We’re in the twenty-first century now.” She reminds him. “Also, standard practice in the Renaldi family. They hail from a _long_ time ago, and they’re very proud of that.” She adds snidely. “Are you done? Or would you like to snap your fingers and have Dean give you the full report?”

“Okay, _you’re_ done.” Dean interjects as John’s expression hardens, stepping forward to bodily put himself between Meira and John. “If you’re spoiling for a fight that badly, we _do_ still have a couple of daeva on the loose. Wanna redirect your hostility in that direction, maybe?” He prompts.

Meira hunches in on herself in what is absolutely _not_ a sulk. “He started it.” She grumbles under her breath, but she turns towards the table, and steals a notebook out of Sam’s bag along the way. There, she begins scribbling down her ideas, crossing out where conflicting metaphysics mess up her plans, only half listening to John demanding a report from Dean. Not about her family, thankfully, but about the daevas. “Caleb might know something.” John offers.

“We already called him.” Sam replies. “He didn’t mention anything beyond binding, and that banishing them is theoretically possible because it was done once before.”

John makes a faint sound of acknowledgement, and then sighs before very carefully _not_ apologising for the fight he’d had with Sam the last time they’d seen each other. Sam doesn’t hold it against him, which doesn’t surprise Meira all that much.

“So, ideas?” Dean asks, sitting down opposite her.

Meira glances up. “Well, we know how to kill demons, and we know how to kill pagan gods, and daevas are something in between, although the fact that they gave up their identity to get there will play a unique part in their metaphysical composition.” She taps her pen rapidly against the notebook as she explains, agitated by her lack of resources. “So, theoretically, if we combine elements from each we could create something that can kill them. It’s just a matter of figuring out _which_ elements.”

“Speaking of, how come you didn’t mention you knew how to kill a demon when we ran into one?” Dean asks. “Instead of just exorcising it, we could have actually killed the damn thing.”

Meira is about to point out that in most cases, sending a demon back to hell is the worse fate, but then she realises that would just lead into an explanation of life after death and the metaphysics of the human soul, and she can’t explain _how_ she knows all that, so she resigns herself to answering the question. “Because none of them are easily viable, and we didn’t exactly have a lot of time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Holy oil is extremely rare and only available in specific parts of the holy land, so unless you want to fly to Jerusalem, that’s out. Celestial steel is practically a myth, and if it ever existed, no one on earth has seen it since the birth of Christ, at least.” Meira clenches her hand into a fist to resist the impulse to reach for her own angel blade. “And this plane is a little short on hellfire, so unless you-” Meira stops the words before they fall out of her mouth on instinct, before it dawns on her that, of course, Hell isn’t a sore subject for her dad yet. She still can’t make herself make the suggestion, even in a bitter jest. “The only place to find hellfire is in Hell, so that one’s out as well.”

“Right.” Dean agrees. “How do you know it works, then?” He asks.

Meira can’t exactly tell him that a demon had gifted her not-brother with the very knife that had gained Dean’s surrender in Hell as a thank you present, and she’d seen him kill demons with it. Literally, since she’d been able to see their corrupted souls dissolve into the ether at the time. “Okay, I’ve never tested it out myself, but it was a first-hand account in an old hunter’s journal, so I trust its validity.”

“In your uncle’s library?” John asks, coming to stand over Dean’s shoulder. Dean’s back straightens slightly, a subconscious move that has Meira bristling on principle.

“That’s right.” She confirms, biting the words out.

“I’d like to see that journal.” John remarks casually.

Meira narrows her eyes at him, suddenly feeling very cold inside. “You know, so would I.” She says quietly, and out of the corner of her eye she notices Sam and Dean both stiffening at her tone. “I’d love to be in my uncle’s library right now, or to be able to ask my qaada if he knows how to kill daeva, or to ask my step-brother if he and his friends want to try baiting a demon into a trap to steal a hell-forged weapon off them.” Not that they’d have needed to since they had one already, but Krissy probably would have jumped at the chance anyway, just for the hell of it.

“Meira…” Sam says quietly, full of sympathy.

“Unfortunately, I can’t.” Meira tells John. “So if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to trying to figure out how to save your son’s lives, since you only managed to show up fifteen minutes late with Starbucks.”

There’s a nearly audible _snap_ of tension in the air as John goes still and sharp like a predator sensing a threat. Sam and Dean are both staring at Meira in wide-eyed incredulity. A cold not-smile curls John’s mouth. “You almost sound like you wish I’d walked into that trap right alongside them.” He says, level and pointed.

“‘But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me,’ and all that.” Meira quotes.

Dean slams a fist down on the table with a jarring thud. Meira’s eyes snap to him, and she quails at the look on his face. It’s the hard, unfeeling one he wears on hunts. “Don’t you _dare_ , Meira.”

Meira looks away and swallows. “Sorry, D- Dean.” She says, and then after a breath, she manages to compose herself. “I’m sorry, my temper got the better of me. Of course I didn’t mean to-” She cuts herself off and gestures helplessly. She’s angry, yes, but she wouldn’t _kill_ her grandfather over how he’s been treating her dad and uncle, not even indirectly.

Dean nods sharply, and leans back, although the tension doesn’t go out of him. John’s eyes dart between them, wary and suspicious; aware that there was subtext there he couldn’t catch, and probably curious at how Dean got Meira to back down so easily. Sam breaks the lingering tension by bursting out laughing. Everyone, Meira included, turns to stare at him. Sam meets Dean’s gaze and simply says “I told you so,” like the petty little brother he is.

Dean stares at him for a long moment, then catches on. A startled chuckle escapes him and he scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, fine. You win.” He capitulates. “Christ, this is worse than your rebellious phase when you were fifteen.”

“It’s not quite _that_ bad.” Sam hedges, which makes Dean laugh harder, which makes Sam grin. “So, daevas?” He prompts them all.

“Right.” Dean agrees with relief-tinged enthusiasm. “So, we need to combine how we’d kill a pagan god with one of the ways to kill a demon?”

“Taking into account the loss of identity.” Meira adds in an agreeing tone. “So, pagan gods are generally killed with wooden stakes anointed in some specific form of blood. The wood is usually specific to the god, depending on their place of origin or their domain. The demonic equivalent would probably be bone.” She muses, underlining the note she’d made of exactly that.

“Bone isn’t wood.” Sam challenges, but he says it more like an inquiry than a denial.

“Nothing grows in Hell.” Meira returns. “Bones are of the earth, though, like wood, and they grow in the dark, too. It’s the closest equivalent I can think of unless you want to try phosphor-bronze.”

“Why phosphor-bronze?” Sam asks moving closer to peer down at her notebook. “Why not cold iron? Or gold, the metal of the sun to kill demons of the shadows?” He suggests.

Meira perks up and jots that down. “Good idea.”

“Gold’s not going to hold an edge very well.” Dean points out with a grimace.

“Sufficient force should compensate for that.” Meira retorts dismissively, and Dean snorts. “And it’s phosphor-bronze for demons because bronze is corrupted copper, the metal of Venus, which was once upon a time called…” Meira trails off pointedly.

“The morning star.” Sam realises, nodding. “Lucifer.”

Meira snaps her fingers and points at him. “They are his children, they’re contaminated by his essence and subject to his power. So, phosphor-bronze to kill a demon.” She shakes her head and gets back to the subject. Drowning herself in theorising is a good distraction from John’s eyes boring into the top of her head as she bows it over the notebook. “I also thought… It’s a bit sketchy, but I thought that the bone of a stillborn child might work. Hard to turn into a weapon, even if you don’t mind desecrating a child’s grave, but… the lack of a chance to gain an identity would match and maybe neutralise the loss of identity that gave the daevas their power in the first place.”

“Let’s make that a back-up plan.” Dean says with a grimace.

“So, we’re going with gold as our best guess for a base weapon?” Meira checks, and everyone nods, even John, so she writes that at the very top of a new page. “The blood… demonic blood is an option. Some gods need the blood of their worshippers to kill them. But a victim’s blood works for tricksters, so, maybe we should see if we can get a sample of Meg’s blood. Or Meredith’s.” Meg’s blood would be Meira’s preference, since it would work either way. “Although, maybe sulphur would be a better bet. Since daeva’s are far more spirit than most demons, the spiritual equivalent to blood might work better.”

“Why not both?” Dean suggests.

“There’s no kill like overkill.” Meira agrees, making a note.

“Or…” Sam interjects, eyes focused on the middle distance. “Didn’t Missouri say something about crossroads dirt for linking the physical to the spiritual?” Meira nods, watching him intently to see where he’s going with this. “These things, if they get their power from loss of identity, then they’re a bit like poltergeists, right? People can become poltergeists if they don’t have anything to identify themselves but stick around anyway, right?”

“More or less.” Meira confirms.

“So, substitute crossroads dirt for the sulphur.” Sam concludes. “It has the connection to the spiritual, same as the sulphur, but it also takes the loss of identity into account.”

“Sam, you’re brilliant!” Meira enthuses, jotting that down. “And a blessing, just to be sure.”

“What blessing?” John challenges.

“What would be more appropriate for shadow demons than Psalm 23?” Meira replies, being very careful to keep her tone light and mild, and to make it sound like the only reason she thought of it was because of the reference to shadows, not because she knows for sure that one will work, since it worked on the colt. “I have a gold knife, so we just need a victim’s blood and crossroads dirt.”

“Crossroads dirt is going to be hard to come by in a city.” Sam points out.

“Good of you to volunteer, Sam.” Dean says cheerfully, digging the Impala’s keys out of his pocket and tossing them at Sam. “I’ll go check out what happened to Meg, see if I can’t get some of her blood. How much do we need to anoint something, anyway?”

“Enough to draw at least a line down the blade. It has to be liquid, too, not dried.” Meira tells him, and Dean swears, but heads for the door.

Sam looks over his shoulder, eyes flicking nervously between Meira and John. “Um… Dad, do you think you could… you’re the one with another car, so maybe you could help look for crossroads dirt?” He suggests hopefully.

John gives Meira a brief look of suspicion, but nods briskly. “The quicker we get this done, the better.” He agrees. “You head south, son, I’ll take north.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam agrees.

Meira follows him to the Impala to collect her gold knife from the trunk, and is about to head back into the motel room when Sam catches her arm. “Sam?” She asks, worried by the uncertain, conflicted look on his face.

“You know Dad wasn’t that bad to us, right?” Sam checks, and then grimaces and looks away. “I mean, I’m not saying that everything he did was perfect, but- Come on, you have to know he was _nothing_ like- like Max’s dad.”

Meira sighs, looking away as well. Her gaze finds John’s truck as it pulls out of the motel parking lot, and she tries not to squirm with guilt. “I do know that he wasn’t completely terrible to you, Sam.” She says finally. Sam nods, smiling hopefully, and Meira grimaces. “Maybe I’m just jealous.” She says, which is a complete lie, but it works to make Sam relax, sympathy lining his face as he wraps an arm around her and pulls her into a comforting hug. Meira returns it and wishes, yet again, that she could go home. “Well, you’d better get a move on.” She says as she draws back, and Sam nods and goes.

Meira retreats back into the motel room to do a little more research, double check their theories and contemplate how difficult it would be to get a human bone to make a blade out of. It’s bordering on dark magic, and she’s sure Sam and Dean would have something to say about it, but she’s kind of kicking herself for not having one on hand. Instead, she gets the amulet out and turns it over in her fingers, wondering if it worked, hoping that no one else is going to die before they can kill the daevas.

Dean gets back first, and although he’s carrying a little vial half-filled with red liquid, his expression is grim. “What’s wrong?” Meira asks at once.

“Meg’s vanished.” Dean says, passing her the vial of blood. “Is that enough?”

“Mhm” Meira acknowledges. “She vanished?”

“Right out of the hospital. They were prepping her for surgery, she had _multiple_ broken bones from the fall, but they took their eyes off her for a few minutes, and poof, gone.” Dean grits his teeth, pacing the length of the motel room. “The place was in uproar when I got there, but I managed to get that from the nurses station.”

Meira’s phone rings before she can figure out what to say to that. The caller ID says it’s Sam. “Sam?” She asks as she raises it to her ear.

“Meira, Meg’s possessed.” Sam tells her, rushed and urgent. “She’s been possessed by a demon.”

“Well, that would explain how she managed to walk out of the hospital a few hours after falling three stories.” Meira says, staring at Dean, who mouths ‘what?’ at her, but she doesn’t get a chance to respond before Sam’s talking again.

“She- Or, _it_ attacked me, looking for the amulet. When it realised I didn’t have it, it left, I think it might be coming after you guys or Dad.” Sam explains.

“We’ll be careful.” Meira promises him. “Hurry up with that crossroads dirt.” She adds, and Sam grunts an affirmative before hanging up. “So, Meg’s a demon.” Meira tells Dean, who curses. “And she might be coming here to look for her amulet.”

“Devil’s trap?” Dean suggests, and Meira nods. They get to work demon-proofing the motel room as best they can, going so far as to pull the carpet up to draw a devil’s trap onto the floorboards beneath. Meira shows Dean which sigils to add to make it stronger, since she knows that Megaera is not exactly a bottom-feeder in Hell’s hierarchy.

Then all they can do is wait to see who gets back first, Sam, John, or Megaera.

They’re still waiting when the door gets knocked off its hinges and Megaera strides into the room. They both leap to their feet at her entrance, but otherwise hesitate to move, feigning alarm and confusion. “Hello.” She says with a cold smile. “I’d like my amulet back, please.” She says, sweet and deliberate, looking between them. “Which one of you has it, now?”

Meira reaches into her pocket and pulls it out, holding it up. Megaera’s eyes light up, and she takes another two steps forward, hand outstretched, before she runs into the edge of the devil’s trap like walking into a glass door. She staggers backwards, hits the back of the devil’s trap, and looks down at the floor in alarm, then up at the ceiling, then around in mounting confusion. “A devil’s trap?” She asks.

“Under the carpet.” Dean tells her smugly. Megaera looks down again, and when she lifts her head this time, she looks furious. “Did you think we wouldn’t be prepared?”

Megaera sneers at him, and then reaches out with one hand. The amulet tries to rip itself out of Meira’s hand, but she’s ready for that, and she keeps her hold on it, knuckles turning white against the straining chain. “Stop.” She warns Megaera. “Or we’ll see just how well they’ll listen to me.”

Megaera’s hand drops and her eyes widen. “You wouldn’t.” She says, but she doesn’t sound entirely certain.

“Why not?” Meira challenges.

“Because you’re a hunter,” Megaera begins, eyes flicking over to Dean with a sneer, “and you wouldn’t set monsters like that on the poor little human in here with me.”

“You mean she’s not dead?” Meira asks, startled and suddenly feeling like a complete idiot.

“Not _yet_.” Megaera says calmly. “But that could change if you don’t let me out.”

Dean sighs. “Okay.” He agrees, leaning back against the table and crossing his arms. “Let’s see if this works. Bols ma a’aiom, pa’aox il adohi ol Onsamir.” He quotes, pronouncing each word very, very carefully. Megaera’s face drains of all colour, and she turns to stare at Meira in horror, but Meira is too busy staring at Dean in shock to deal with that.

“You memorised it after hearing it _once_?” She asks him.

Dean shrugs. “Sam recorded you.” He tells her, watching Megaera smugly. “Does that count as stealing?” He wonders, glancing at Meira. “You said it couldn’t be stolen, so I’ve been wondering if it would work for us at all.”

Meira considers that. “You know, I don’t know? I used it in front of you in the full knowledge that you could hear me and understand its effects, so that might count, but you don’t actually understand what you’re saying, do you?” She asks, and Dean grimaces, shaking his head. “So I’m not sure it would work.”

“So, if you told me what it meant, _then_ it would work for me?” Dean asks.

“Yeah.” Meira confirms, then shakes her head. “I’ll give you the lesson later, though, okay?”

Dean gestures her towards Megaera. “She’s all yours.”

Meira turns to Megaera, and she stares back, uncertain and betrayed. “Don’t send me back down there.” She says, very nearly begging, and Meira almost feels bad. It’s enough that she decides, on what is probably a stupid impulse, that she isn’t going to send Megaera back to hell. She’s going to exorcise her, she certainly can’t not, right in front of Dean, and expect him to continue trusting her, but as long as she doesn’t repeat the first part, then Megaera won’t be compelled back to Hell, just out of Meg.

“Once I do this,” Meira says to Dean, “we’re going to have to move fast if we want to save Meg. We don’t have a car, and one of us ought to stay here to wait for Sam.”

“We could call an ambulance.” Dean suggests.

“And let the paramedics see all of that?” Meira asks, gesturing at the hunting paraphernalia spread about around the room. “With our luck, they’d decide we were responsible for the stealth killings or something.” Dean grimaces an agreement. Meira takes a moment to debate where she’ll do the most good, and then decides, holding the amulet out to Dean. “You stay here and wait for Sam, I’ll take Meg to the hospital.”

“You’re the one who came up with the ritual.” Dean protests.

“And she got into this because of my family. Let me help her.” Meira pleads, and Dean nods, taking the amulet only a little reluctantly. “The ritual isn’t hard. Mix the dirt with the blood, smear it on the blade, recite the blessing over it.” She instructs him, and then adds, “And don’t try to stab the shadows, they’re just shadows. You need to find their actual spiritual form.”

“Right.” Dean agrees.

Meira takes a deep breath, and turns back to Megaera, who’s been watching them with an unreadable expression on her face. “Niiso i etharzi od yinay ma doal. Oyi gohe Zire.” Meira says quietly, and holy light suffuses Meg as her mouth drops open and Megaera flows out of her in the form of black, writhing smoke. Megaera coils on the floor within the confines of the devil’s trap while Meg collapses, and then slowly sinks down through the carpet.

Meira and Dean rush forwards as Meg spits up blood. “Go hotwire a car for us?” Meira requests of Dean as she kneels down and begins manoeuvring Meg into her arms as carefully as she can.

Dean nods and bolts for the door, missing the way Meg’s hand flops out towards him and a breathy little “No…!” escapes her.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Meira promises.

Meg gives her a frightened look that Meira can’t really blame her for as Meira lifts her up into her arms and carries her outside. “I was- was awake… for- for everyth-thing.” Meg whispers, breaths rattling and nearly choking her on every inhale.

Great. How on earth is Meira supposed to convince Meg that she wasn’t actually in collusion with the demon possessing her? “She was wrong about me.” Meira tells her, making a beeline for where Dean is waiting by a running car. He helps Meira get Meg into the back seat, moving her carefully to try and avoid aggravating her injuries. “I’m going to take you to the hospital.” Meira tells her as they work.

Meg tries to shake her head, but makes a pained noise and then stops. “The demon…”

“Is gone now. You’ll be fine.” Dean assures her, then shuts the door on her. Meira is already bolting for the driver’s side, and throws herself in and peels out of the parking lot as fast as she can without jostling Meg too much.

“The demon-” Meg says again, and Meira hums to show she’s paying attention. “It said- said you were-” She cuts herself off with a cough that splatters red over her bottom lip.

“Let me guess, daughter of the devil, right?” Meira checks, and what she gets in reply is so breathless and ragged that it’s only barely understandable as a yes. “She’s wrong. My Qaada is the angel of Thursday. No one’s really sure why my grace is so much like Lucifer’s, but it’s pissed a lot of people off, let me tell you.”

Meg’s only response is another weak cough. Meira checks on her in the rear view mirror, and she can’t see souls anymore, can’t see how close Meg’s is to abandoning her mortal flesh completely, but somehow, she’s pretty sure Meg isn’t going to last long enough to reach the hospital. “Meg?” Meira calls, and Meg’s eyes flutter half way open. “I know you have no reason to trust me, so if you say you’d rather, I’ll keep my word and just take you to the hospital, but I _am_ an angel, and I can heal you, if you’ll let me.”

Meg stares at her. “…w-why…?” She manages to cough out.

Meira doesn’t need her to push any more words out to understand. “Because healing shouldn’t be done without consent. I mean, okay, if you pass out now without giving me an answer, I’ll probably pull over and heal you, because letting someone die when you can help is a dick move, too, but… it’s still interfering with your body, with your _soul_ , and it doesn’t matter how pure my motives are, that should never be done without consent. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, after all.”

There’s silence from the back seat, and Meira checks to see if Meg has actually passed out, but no, she’s still staring at the back of Meira’s head, visibly frowning even through the tight, contorted expression of pain. “…do it.” Meg breathes, closing her eyes in something that might be resignation.

Meira doesn’t waste any time in pulling over and clambering into the back as quickly as she can while still being careful not to jostle Meg. “I’m going to need to kiss you.” Meira warns.

Meg’s frown deepens, but she breathes “…o-okay…” and Meira doesn’t waste any more time, leaning down and fitting their lips together, more like she’s about to give CPR than like she’s going in for a kiss. The moment their lips touch, she reaches. The pain is expected, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. It rattles through her like a storm, and she knows there’s worse to come, because the recoil when she pushes too far is always the worst part.

Meg is so much harder to heal than Layla. Layla was mostly healthy, except for one aberration, and although the brain is the most complicated part of the human body, it’s certainly not too complicated for an angel to fix. But Meg is broken everywhere. Not just her bones, which are broken in several places, but of course there’s massive bruising too, and internal bleeding in more than one place, including in her brain, along with several deep scratches from the daevas. Meira reaches out with her grace and starts there.

The world is lost to the pain, but Meira can’t let herself stop, can’t let herself retreat when there’s so much more to do. It takes no more than a couple of seconds, but those seconds contain infinite oceans of agony. Then she’s done, and the moment she stops pushing, the recoil hits her, and it’s even worse than before, as though the longer she held out, the more magnified the rebound became.

She comes to, once again, with a hand in her hair, but this time, she’s not nearly as comfortable. Her face is pressed into upholstery that smells like new car, and it’s giving Meira a headache on top of the one lingering from her bound grace. She’s crouching, cramped and contorted, in the footwell in the back of the car, and just for the moment, with her grace coiled up defensively inside her core, her bruises are lingering, and they seem like they’re everywhere.

“Meg?” Meira asks.

“What on earth was that?” Meg asks from somewhere above her head. Meira grins into the seat, because as freaked out as she sounds, she also sounds strong and healthy, no death rattle shaking through words she barely has the effort to force out anymore.

“Healing.” Meira tells her.

“You didn’t say it would half-kill _you_!” Meg protests.

Meira twists and shuffles awkwardly until she can peer up at Meg out of one eye. “S’just pain.” She says, attempting a shrug and adding another bruise to her collection when her shoulder meets something hard attached to the back of the front seat. Ow. “I’ll g’over it.”

Meg stares down at her, incredulous. “You really are a good person.” She says in a tone of rather unflattering surprise.

Meira laughs, weakly, but she does. “I’m a person.” She corrects with another, more careful, shrug. “I try t’do more good things’n bad.” Then, laboriously, aching all over and wondering how many muscles she could possibly have managed to sprain while practically pinned down between the two seats, she tries to get up. Apparently, the answer is ‘a lot’.

Meg helps, getting a hand under her elbow and supporting her until she can drop with a groan into the other back seat, unoccupied now that Meg is capable of sitting upright without the broken ribs or fractured pelvis giving her hell. “I don’t understand.” Meg confesses once Meira’s settled. Meira makes an interrogative sound. “You-” Meg begins, but no more is forthcoming, so she changes her answer to a simple reiteration. “You.”

“What about me?”

“You like her. Megaera. You _named her_. After _me_.” Meg adds, offended.

“Sorry.” Meira offers, only half sincerely. “At least it’s better than her stealing your name and going around as ‘Meg’ after she kills you?”

Meg shudders. “Yeah, okay.” She agrees. “But my point still stands. You like her. You could have sent her back to Hell just then, but you didn’t. Why _not_?”

Meira takes a moment to think about how to answer that. “Because of how I was born,” she begins slowly, “just about every angel or demon I’ve ever come across has tried to kill me. Some various other monsters, too, have sought me out specifically to kill me for being what I am… One of the few exceptions is- _was_ a demon called Crowley. I guess because he could relate. He was an abomination of sorts, too, because somewhere along the way, he’d rebuilt his capacity for empathy.” Meira shrugs and smiles sadly. “Believe it or not, my qaada, my _actual_ qaada, did speak highly of her to me, and I guess… because I know it’s _possible_ for a demon to be more than what they’ve been tortured into, I want to give Megaera the chance to do it, too. And she’s never going to get the chance if I send her back to Hell.”

Meg’s expression twists, and she stares out the front of the car as her jaw works, chewing over words. “I don’t care.” She bursts out. “I don’t _care_ what she could be, she’d _deserve it_.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to care.” Meira assures her, and Meg turns with narrowed eyes. “And I wouldn’t stop you if you tried to exorcise her yourself. I mean, I would yell at you if you tried it _now_ , because you’d get yourself killed, and for fuck’s sake, don’t give her that.” Meg snorts, and Meira grins. “But she violated you, tortured you, and would have left you for dead without a second thought. You have every right to want to cut out her spleen and make her eat it.”

Meg nods, but she’s clearly working up to something else, so Meira waits, and then, after a few seconds of tense silence, she bursts out. “And you _left me_ like that. For _months_. Just because you wanted to- to _save her_?!”

Meira winces. “I am… really sorry about that.” She says, guilt turning sour in her stomach.

“Good. Why _do it_ , then?” Meg demands, but she sounds more bewildered than angry this time.

“Would you believe me if I said I forgot you were in there?” Meira says through a grimace.

“You… _forgot_.” Meg repeats flatly.

Meira sighs and nods. “Healing’s not actually _supposed_ to do that to me, you know. It only did because someone… bound my grace under my skin.” Meg nods slowly, so Meira figures she doesn’t need to give any more details on that score. “I’m used to _knowing_ when someone’s possessed, because I can _see it_. Could. I could see it. I can’t now, and even though if I’d stopped to think about it, it would have been fucking _obvious_ , I only saw one face, and so I just assumed…” Meira waves a hand vaguely in the air, because assumed is the wrong word but she can’t find a better one.

“I wasn’t real to you, because you couldn’t see that I was there.” Meg concludes.

Meira nods. “Yeah. I mean, there was a possibility that there wasn't anyone else in there, demons can wear a body without a soul in as easy as one with, but... I didn't even think to check. Which was really shitty of me, and… I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to cut out my spleen, either, to be quite honest.” She pauses to think about it. “Hey, you probably _could_ , actually. I heal pretty damn fast, I bet I could regrow my spleen.”

Meg stares at her for a moment, then bursts into laughter that quickly dissolves into tears. Meira lets her cry in peace, figuring any attempts at comfort from her wouldn’t be welcome. “I think I’m good, thanks.” Meg says finally, sniffing back any more tears. “You kind of made up for it when you saved my life and all. Just… don’t do it again.”

Meira nods. “I can’t promise I’ll never try to save a ‘monster’ again, but I promise I’ll do my best never to forget their victims. Is that okay?”

“It’ll do.” Meg sniffs, then shakes her head in exasperation. “So, what now?”

“Well, I figure you don’t want to go driving around in a stolen car, so I’ll give you some cash, and you can get a bus home.” Meira suggests, and Meg swallows hard, nodding. “I’ll show you a design for an anti possession sigil that you can make into a charm or amulet, or get as a tattoo.” Meg’s eyes widen even as tears start to well up in them again. “And I have your number, so I’ll text you so you’ve got mine, and then if anything weird happens, you can let me know and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Meg gives a wet laugh and presses her knuckles into her eyes as though hoping to force any more tears back inside. “Are you kidding?” She asks. “I’m getting a new phone after this. That bitch kept giving my number out to really- really awful people.” She explains between sniffles.

Meira laughs and pulls out one of her business cards. “Well, at least take my number then, just in case. If- if anything like this happens to you again, I want to help.” She swears.

Meg takes the card with a wobbly smile, and nods again. “Thanks. I’ll- I’ll text you.” She says, and Meira takes that as her cue to get a move on. She gets back into the front, and after a second, Meg joins her, settling into the passenger seat instead of staying in the back. Meira drives her to the nearest bus stop, and then draws out the anti possession sigil on the corner of the card she gave her. She also hands over a wad of bills, enough that Meg almost starts to protest until Meira admits it’s pretty much all stolen anyway. At which point Meg gives up and starts laughing.

Then they say good-bye, and Meira watches her jog into the bus stop before driving back to the motel. She gets there to find the room practically trashed, with deep gouges clawed into the walls and floor, and Sam, Dean, and John all sitting around in exhausted but victorious silence. “It worked?” Meira asks without preamble.

“It worked.” Dean confirms. “How’s Meg?”

“I got her to the hospital, but I didn’t stick around long enough to find out more than that they think she’ll live.” Meira lies. Sam and Dean nod, looking solemn.

“Well, now that you’re back, we should head out before people start asking questions.” Dean suggests, waving a hand around the room.

“Good idea.” John agrees, and they pack up within minutes and head right back outside again. Once there, an argument starts up about whether John is coming with them or not that Meira stays way the hell out of. Eventually, they agree that John should head off separately, and John gives both his sons tight, quick hugs. “You boys be careful.” He orders, drawing back with a hand on each of their shoulders. They both nod. “Be careful who you trust.” He adds significantly. “These things are everywhere, and they can look like anyone.”

It’s sound advice, but Meira doesn’t think she’s imagining the way it’s pointed in her direction. Sam and Dean promise to be careful, and then John is gone.


	5. Six Impossible Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title is from Alice in Wonderland)

**Tulsa, Oklahoma – Wednesday 7 th  June 2006 **

“Hey, Princess!”

Matt’s head comes up from where it was buried in his phone as he makes his way out of school, and when he spots Meira leaning against the hood of the Impala, he lights up and starts jogging over. He gets more than a little attention, partly for the nickname, and partly because of the Impala, which _is_ a very impressive car, but Matt doesn’t seem to care, if he even notices. “Meira! What are you doing here?” He asks, bewildered, then ducks down to peer into the window and wave. “Hey, Sam, Dean.”

“Hi there, Princess.” Dean greets, half mocking, half amused, and Matt rolls his eyes at him.

“We’re here to kidnap you!” Meira chirps.

“For the record, I think this is a terrible idea.” Dean chips in, leaning an elbow out of the window to glare at Meira. “But _someone_ convinced your dad that you’d just go looking for trouble by yourself, so better to have you tag along with us since we’re in the area so we can keep your ass safe. Something about Charlie being a bad influence on you and Ben.” His glare intensifies. “I wonder where she got that from in the first place, huh?”

Meira beams sunnily at him, entirely unrepentant, while Matt looks between them rapidly like he’s following a tennis match. “Wait.” He says abruptly, eyes wide. “Wait, are you saying… you’re- you’re here to take me with you? On a-” He lowers his voice to a hushed murmur. “On a hunt?”

“Sam’s found us a baby job down in Texas.” Dean confirms.

“It’s not a _baby job_.” Sam counters, rolling his eyes. “It’s a potential haunting.”

“Barely.” Dean scoffs.

“Hauntings are basic stuff, and maybe you’ll even get a lesson on how to tell a hoax from the genuine article.” Meira tells Matt, who still looks stunned. “So, you in, Princess?”

“I- What about school?” Matt asks, dazed.

“Family emergency, probably going to take a few days to sort out, you’ll be back by Monday.” Meira tells him cheerfully. “Your dad’ll clear it with the school if you say you want to come. You might have to do a little extra homework next week to catch up, but…” Meira shrugs dismissively.

Matt’s jaw drops open. “How on earth did you get my dad to agree to that?”

“Have you or have you not been collecting newspapers on Charlie’s advice to go through the obits with a fine-tooth comb?” Meira asks him, and Matt ducks his head sheepishly. “Yeah, your dad found your clippings. He was worried, so he called me. I suggested he try being the cool dad who lets you drink in the house so that you don’t feel the need to sneak out and get blind drunk without supervision.”

It takes Matt a minute to translate that analogy, but then he grins incredulously. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.” Meira confirms. “You in?” She asks again.

“Absolutely!” Matt enthuses.

“You’d think,” Dean mutters, “that almost getting eaten by killer insects would have dampened his enthusiasm.”

“Like you haven’t done stupider things to impress a pretty girl.” Sam retorts snidely. Matt flushes bright pink and noticeably doesn’t deny it.

“I have not.”

“French-braids.”

“Aren’t likely to get you _killed_.”

While Sam and Dean are bickering, Meira gets distracted by a couple of other kids, a tiny dark-haired girl with glasses and a ridiculously lanky dark-skinned boy, finally daring to approach the impressive new car. “Matt?” The boy calls, peering curiously at Meira.

“That is a _sweet_ ride.” The girl interjects, eyeing the Impala appreciatively, which of course immediately endears her to Dean, who offers her one of his most charmingly sincere grins. Meira can almost see the poor girl developing a crush on the spot.

“Thanks. It’s an authentic ‘67 Chevy Impala.”

The girl rounds on Matt. “You didn’t tell us you know cool people!” She accuses. “Why didn’t you tell us you know cool people?!”

Matt holds his hands up, laughing. “It never came up!”

“Well, it’s come up now.” The boy points out. “Who are they?”

“This is Meira, Dean, and that’s Sam. They’re…” Matt trails off, looking a little helplessly at Meira for an explanation. Meira raises her eyebrows at him, and he sighs, resigned and amused in equal measure. “They’re my fairy godparents. Guys, this is Jonathan and Miranda. They’re my friends.”

“Did you say _fairy_ godparents?” Jonathan demands eagerly. “How’d that happen?”

Matt laughs, a little self-conscious. “It’s a bit of a long story.” He hedges.

“We saved his life, and in return, his parents granted us visitation rights.” Meira intones solemnly. “So now he has to come spend a week in the fae realm with us, learning magic, miracles, and… I can’t think of another good M word.” She admits, making both Jonathan and Miranda laugh like the whole thing is a great joke. At Matt’s grateful look, Meira pushes away from the hood of the Impala and rounds the front of it, heading for the door. “Come on, Princess, hop in. Your adventures in wonderland await.”

“Princess?” Miranda snickers.

“Technically, Alice was a queen, not a princess.” Jonathan says, in a voice that is very close to breaking under the strain of all that repressed laughter.

“It’s a reference to Sleeping Beauty, actually.” Dean tells him, and at their raised eyebrows, shakes his head. “Don’t ask. Apparently, it was a freaking hilarious joke, but I was there, and I still don’t get it.” He admits.

“It was kind of funny.” Sam points out.

“You’re all insane.” Dean accuses.

“It was at least half your fault.” Matt reminds him, opening the back seat door. Then he turns to his friends, half way into the car, to say, “See you on Monday, guys.”

“Wait, you were serious?” Miranda demands, straightening to her full, and not very impressive, height. “You’re taking off for a week?” Matt just sort of shrug-nods, grinning like an idiot, and Miranda actually stamps her foot. “That’s so not fair! You don’t even _like_ cars!”

“And we have exams coming up in less than two weeks.” Jonathan adds dubiously.

“I’ll be back in time to study.” Matt swears.

Both of them open their mouths to protest some more, but Dean cuts them off by slapping an open palm against the side of car. “Alright, enough chit-chat. Get in the car if you’re coming, Princess, we can’t hang about all day.” Matt gets into the car quickly, settling in beside Meira, and Dean takes off with barely more than enough time to wave before the school, and Jonathan and Miranda, are out of sight. “Okay, so, we’re gonna take you home so you can pack some shit, and then we’re hitting the road. I want to get to Richardson before dark.”

* * *

**Richardson, Texas – Wednesday 7 th  June 2006 **

The eyewitness accounts are so inconsistent Meira is biting back giggles by the time they get around to talking to the girl. “Is it always like this?” Matt asks her in a whisper. Meira just shakes her head, not trusting herself to open her mouth. It does, at least, make the one consistent detail stand out all the more.

“So, we’ll have to go find this Craig guy and talk to him tomorrow.” Dean announces, herding them all back out to the Impala. “Time to find a motel and a good take-out place.” They do just that, getting two rooms at a motel with a pizza place nearby, but when Meira makes a beeline for the second room to dump her stuff, Dean catches her arm and tows her onwards. “Nope, you’re with me this time.” He instructs.

“Huh?”

“I don’t trust you alone with Matt.” Dean tells her.

“ _What_?” Meira demands on an incredulous laugh.

Dean glowers at her. “You’re just going to fill his head with nonsense about how hunting is easy, something anyone can do, not that dangerous, blah blah blah. He’s here, fine, you got your way, but let Sam handle actually teaching him how to _not die_.”

Meira is so stunned by that, torn between offence and hilarity, that she doesn’t actually manage to muster up a response before Dean has all but shoved her into their motel room. “I’m not stupid, you know.” Meira protests as the amusement fades a little. “I wasn’t planning to just throw him at a ghost and see how well he did.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Dean grouses. There’s a pause as he wrestles with himself, and then he bursts out. “Boy barely even knows how to handle a gun, and you want to take him on a _hunt_?!” It’s the same protest he made before, when Meira first suggested bringing Matt along.

“Guns aren’t actually _necessary_ to hunting _ghosts_ , Dean.” Meira repeats. “Not to insult that excellent innovation, but humanity has been kicking ghostly ass since the _stone age_. A handful of salt thrown at a ghost would have the same effect! Matt doesn’t need to know how to fire a gun, although, yeah, it’d be useful, why don’t you take him somewhere and teach him if you’re that worried? What he needs to be is smart, observant, and willing to learn.” Meira spreads her arms dramatically. “News flash, he already is. We just need to be willing to teach him.”

“Going on hunts before he’s ready isn’t how he’s going to learn! That’s how he’s going to get himself _dead_!” Dean snaps right back.

Meira squints at him. “He’s not _helpless_ , Dean, and it’s not like we’re taking him up against a wendigo or a demon or something. It’s a haunting. It might not even be a _real_ haunting. And we’re not sending him up against it alone. Just because he hasn’t been raised to this like you and I were doesn’t mean he can’t catch up.”

“I’d almost agree with you except you keep treating this like some sort of- of fun little road-trip. It’s not. It’s a _hunt_ , and just because it’s a ghost doesn’t mean it’s not _dangerous_.”

“If I didn’t think it might be dangerous, I would be yelling at you for harassing an innocent spirit.”

Dean snorts. “True. So why…?” He gestures uselessly instead of finishing the question

Meira lets out a heavy sigh and sits down heavily on the bed. “Because it was always fun for me.” She says with a shrug. Dean blinks at her, and Meira’s heart aches with loss. “God, it was the highlight of my _year_ , those weekends Dad would load up the trunk and take me off to help him hunt down some monster that was terrorising people. I remember, the summer I was sixteen, Dad took me all the way across the States, ‘doing things the old fashioned way’, he said.” She laughs quietly, because now she really gets what he meant by that. “It was fun. Dangerous, sure, I’m not- I’m not arguing that-” Although it hadn’t been, so much, not for her.

“And now you wanna, what, pass down the tradition?” Dean asks.

Meira shrugs helplessly and swallows hard. “Well, it’s not as if we can just pack up and fly off to Fiji for a week just because, so, yeah. I guess it’s something I… I’m trying to hold on to.”

“Fiji?” Dean asks, sitting down opposite her with a faint grin.

Meira smiles back. “Oh, man, you have no idea. My pabbi is so impulsive, and he can’t sit still for anything. Middle of the school term, and he’s just like ‘you know what? I miss the sea, let’s go to the Maldives,’ or ‘I want proper Chinese, I remember this awesome place in the middle of nowhere in Sichuan, let’s go there.’”

“Holy shit!” Dean laughs. “For real?”

“For really real.” Meira confirms, giggling.

“What about your- your qaada?” Dean asks. “Did he take you on any weird holidays?”

Meira thinks about that. She can’t exactly tell him about the time Qaada took them to find the Curiosity rover on Mars, or showed them a new star being born, but… “He took us storm-chasing, once.” She muses. “And to the Mariana Trench. And the Vatican, once.”

Dean bursts out laughing. “Somehow I can’t picture you in the Vatican.”

“It was an exercise in self-restraint.” Meira acknowledges, scowling a little. “Jesus would tear the Vatican down with his bare hands if he could see what they’d built in his name. It’d only be the proper, Christian thing, to do it in his stead, but no, apparently, that would be ‘drawing too much attention to myself’.” Dean can’t stop laughing long enough to reply, and it melts the scowl off Meira’s face to make way for rueful acknowledgement. “Give me a break, I was, like, nine.” This, apparently, does not help.

* * *

**Richardson, Texas – Thursday 8 th  June 2006 **

They split up the next day, Sam and Dean heading out to check out the house, while Meira and Matt get the dubious honour of going to talk to Craig. “So, do you want to take point here?” Meira asks as they’re walking to the music shop where Craig works. Matt gives her a deer-in-headlights look. “I’ll take that as a no.” Meira laughs. “So, lesson number one in lying; tell as much of the truth as possible.”

Matt nods. “Charlie said that, too.” Then he goes faintly pink at Meira’s knowing look.

“Lesson number two; when you _can’t_ tell the truth, believe your own lie.”

“What?” Matt asks.

“It is _amazing_ what you can get people to believe if you just say it with enough authority.” Meira tells him, grinning. “So even if you’re pulling it out of your ass, make yourself believe it when you say it, and people are way more likely to believe you.” Matt nods his understanding. “Lesson number three; if you can, figure out your story ahead of time, but don’t _rehearse_ it. People can tell if you sound like you’re reading from a script.”

“Okay.” Matt says slowly.

“So, what should our story be here? Why are we asking about this ghost?” Meira challenges him.

Matt frowns a little. “Paranormal investigators?” He suggests.

Meira wobbles her head from side to side. “Why? Who hired us?”

“One of those kids?”

“You mean Craig’s friends? People he talks to regularly?” Meira challenges.

Matt pulls a face. “Okay, good point. Um… what about reporters, then?” He suggests tentatively.

Meira nods approvingly. “Good basic fallback, that one. Reporters get to stick their noses in _everywhere_. Which newspaper?”

“Uh… a local one, because no one else would care, right?” Matt checks.

“Well done. So, you’re going to be my intern today, learning the ropes with a more experienced journalist on a puff piece about local hauntings.” Meira tells him.

“Tell as much of the truth as possible.” Matt acknowledges, grinning.

“There we go, you’re getting the hang of it already.” Meira acknowledges, just in time for them to walk into the music store. Matt’s role is fairly inconspicuous, but Meira’s impressed with him anyway, especially when he joins in asking questions about Craig’s story, and when he actually gets out a notebook to keep track of the details.

“So, what do you think?” Meira asks as they leave, holding the door open for Matt, who’s frowning down at his notebook.

Matt hesitates, then looks up at her. “Was he lying?” He asks uncertainly.

Meira blinks at him. “Why do you say that?” She wonders, because she wouldn’t have thought so, herself, but she wouldn’t say, now that the question’s been raised, that she thinks he was definitely telling the truth.

“I don’t know, it’s just…” Matt pauses, then steels himself. “Usually, when you’re recounting history like that, you’re repeating facts, right? Name, time, circumstances.” Matt rattles off, and Meira nods. “So what was with that sudden bit about screaming and begging?”

Meira tips her head thoughtfully. “It was a bit incongruous, now you mention it, but he did say he’s a writer, so maybe he was just adding some embellishments, for emotional impact?”

“That’s what you do with a story. Not history.” Matt retorts.

“Well, let’s go see if we can find out if there’s any truth to it at all.” Meira suggests. “To the library!”

So, to the library they go. They find absolutely nothing in the history of the house that might have created a vengeful spirit. No ugly deaths, no disappearances, not even any particularly dramatic intrigues that might have left unfinished business. Matt ends up throwing the records of one Martin Murdoch across the table at Meira in frustration. “Bet you Craig thought that ‘Mordecai’ sounded _spookier_ than ‘Martin’.” He grumbles.

Meira scans the paper, and then snorts. “Yeah, this is starting to look like a bit of a hoax, huh?”

Matt slumps down over the table, burying his face in his arms. “Great.” He mumbles, muffled by his sleeves. “My first hunt, and it turns out to be nothing at all.”

“Hey, be fair. Your first hunt was a death curse, and you survived it.” Meira corrects him.

“You guys did all the work.” Matt retorts, relenting enough to tip his head up and prop his chin on his arms so that he can actually see her.

“You did plenty of the work, just figuring out something was up, figuring out where it was all centered. Only thing you didn’t do was pick up a stick yourself and poke the burial mound.” Meira reminds him. “And if you _had_ found those bones, what would you have done?”

“Taken them to get evaluated.” Matt recites dutifully, but he’s starting to smile. “I don’t think I’d have made the jump from there to curse, though.” He points out.

“Not then, but now you would.” Meira says, getting up and starting to pack away their research materials. “All you really need now is a little encouragement to poke things with sticks, and a bit of training on how to defend yourself. You taking any martial arts classes?”

“I’m going to take a summer class in taekwondo.” Matt tells her. “And, um, Joe offered to introduce me to his tribe’s shaman, maybe… maybe learn some more spiritual ways to defend myself from evil and whatnot.”

Meira’s eyebrows fly up. “No shit? You must have impressed him.”

Matt ducks his head and busies himself tidying up. Meira leaves him to it and takes the opportunity to head outside and call Dean. “Any luck with Craig?” He asks in lieu of a hello.

Meira snorts. “Matt figured he was lying about the dramatic story of an asshole who killed his daughters during the depression, and a little jaunt to the library proves there is literally _nothing_ interesting about that house and Craig’s story was entirely made up. What did you find up there?”

Dean snorts. “Dude, I’ll tell you and Matt about it over dinner or something.”

“You found something?” Meira asks, surprised.

“Not related to the case, no. Place is spooky, sure, but it looks like a freaking stage set. Symbols spray painted onto the walls _everywhere_ . Because, you know, ghosts do that.” He mocks. “No, but, get this, there were wannabe _ghostbusters_ there.”

“Okay, that sounds hilarious. You’re right, you should tell us all about it later, when we can both enjoy the idiocy.” Meira agrees, snickering. Matt joins her outside while she tells Dean where to pick them up, and once he does, they go get dinner from a steakhouse while Dean and Sam regale them with the story of the fake ghostbusters.

“I guess we’ll be heading home tomorrow.” Matt sighs as they’re leaving the restaurant.

“Sorry, Princess.” Meira says, ruffling his hair. “Sometimes this happens.” Matt pulls a face at her, but he doesn’t seem too disheartened on the drive back to the motel, and Meira figures Sam can handle any frustration that might lead to Matt doing something stupid on his own later.

“Gotta say, I’m kinda glad.” Dean admits.

Meira pulls a face of her own as she flops down onto her bed and kicks her boots off. “I’m not.” She huffs. “I’d much rather _be there_ for his first actual ghost hunt. Not that I don’t think he could handle it, but, hell, it’s always good to have back up, and he’s still learning.”

“There is that.” Dean agrees. “Well, maybe there’ll be another hunt around here we can take him on another time.” He suggests.

Meira blinks at the ceiling, then turns her head towards Dean. “You’re coming around to the idea?”

Dean groans, pausing in the doorway to the bathroom. “I guess. I don’t think he ought to half-ass it, is all. And if he’s going to do it, then, yeah, I guess I do think he ought to have someone to watch his back while he’s figuring out how not to shoot himself in the foot. Literally.” He pauses, then snorts. “Seeing those two morons at the house reminded me that Matt isn’t actually stupid, you know? There are some people who get into this shit because they think it’s fun or whatever, and it’s not. It’s dangerous as hell. But Matt knows that, it’s just hard to remember sometimes because he’s not…” Dean trails off with a shrug, and disappears into the bathroom.

“A hard-bitten old cynic like you?” Meira calls after him.

“Oh, bite me.”

* * *

**Richardson, Texas – Friday 9 th  June 2006 **

“Change of plans.” Dean calls as he barges into Sam and Matt’s room early the next morning. Meira waits by the Impala, feeling grim. She can hear sleepy confused questions coming from Matt, while Sam is a little more coherent. “We’re heading back up to the Murdoch house. Apparently someone died there last night. It’s all over this morning’s papers. So be ready to go in five minutes.” He orders, then joins Meira by the Impala.

They head out to the house, which is all cordoned off with police tape. There are still police there, and a few rubberneckers. “This doesn’t necessarily have to be a ghost, though, does it?” Matt asks, frowning towards the house, where Sam and Dean are talking to the rubberneckers and the police, respectively, getting as much information as they can out of them. “Maybe she really did commit suicide, or maybe it was a prank gone wrong?”

“I doubt it was a suicide.” Meira says, flipping through the handful of articles from papers that manages to get journalists out here before their morning editions went to print. “Why would she go along with a dare from her friends, only to commit suicide in the basement. Suicides aren’t usually spur of the moment.”

“Prank gone wrong?” Matt suggests again. “Maybe she wanted to freak her friends out in revenge for the dare, and she messed up, accidentally _actually_ hung herself, instead of just making it look like that’s what happened?”

Meira tips her head thoughtfully. “Possible.” She acknowledges. “But also possibly an actual ghost, so we’ve got to check it out.” She adds, and Matt nods. “Which means we’ve got a whole day to kill.” Matt’s understanding expression morphs into a befuddled frown. “If we’re looking for the actual ghost, it’s best to look at night.” Meira tells him.

Matt stares at her. “Wait, we’re going to-” He cuts himself off with a glance towards the police still standing about near the house. “Really?” He asks, instead of being specific. Meira grins at him. “My dad is going to be so pissed if I get arrested.” Matt says in a tone of revelation.

“He’ll kill us, not you.” Meira assures him.

“Who’ll kill us?” Sam asks as he heads back over.

“My dad. When I get arrested.” Matt explains, clearly already resigned to his fate.

It takes Sam a moment to catch up, but when he does, he laughs. “Just another hazard of the job, I’m afraid.” He says, giving Matt an assessing look “Are you sure you still wanna do this? Because you have a life, you don’t need to be tainting it with these kinds of risks.”

Matt shakes his head, looking over at Dean as he starts making his way back over to them as well. “No, I’m sure.” He says, and he sounds it. “It’s not just-” He turns pink. “It is a _bit_ about Charlie, okay, but it’s not… this stuff isn’t just going to go away if I pretend really hard, you know? And someone’s got to stop these things hurting people.”

“Why does it have to be you?” Dean interjects.

Matt shrugs. “Because I know. Because I can, and someone has to.”

Sam looks pained, but Dean just sighs. “Alright, fine. Then today, we’ll see about getting you started on guns, knives, basic hand-to-hand.” Matt bites his lip, and Dean raises his eyebrows. “What?” He prompts.

Matt hesitates for a moment longer, then steels himself. “I want to go talk to that guy again. Craig.” He says, and even though he sounds sure, the way his eyes flicker between the three of them tells Meira that he’s more nervous than he wants to let on about challenging their plans. She makes a curious, encouraging noise, and a little tension goes out of Matt’s shoulders. “He just… he seemed like he was lying, like he _knew_ he was lying, so maybe he knows something more about… what’s going on here.”

Dean makes a thoughtful face, and nods. “Alright, let’s do that, then.” He agrees, and Matt relaxes completely with a little sigh of relief. Sam and Dean share a look of amused indulgence, and then Dean claps Matt on the shoulder as he heads for the driver’s side door.

“It’s a good idea, Matt.” Sam assures him.

They head to the music shop. They get three steps inside before Dean stops dead. “ _That’s_ where it’s from!” He says. Meira and Matt turn to look at him, baffled. “One of the symbols, on the walls of the house.” Dean explains. “I knew I’d seen it before.” He turns and starts rifling through the records until he pulls one out and shows it to them.

Meira looks at it, and sees a hook-and-cross symbol printed in the center of the cover artwork. “It looks kind of like a bastardisation of the symbol for lead in alchemy?” She offers uncertainly.

“Or,” Dean says, loudly enough to be overheard, “someone just wanted to throw a bunch of spooky looking symbols up on those walls and didn’t care where they got them from.” Meira looks over her shoulder to see Craig staring at them, wide-eyed and pale. “Know anything about that, Craig?” Dean asks, leaning around so he can see the guy past Meira’s shoulder.

The story spills out of Craig in a frantic rush. “I thought it was funny, at first, but- now that girl’s dead?” He looks helpless and pleading, like he’s looking to them for some form of absolution. “It was just a joke. I-I m-mean- None of it was _real_ , we made the whole thing up! I s-swear!”

Sam and Dean exchange looks, nod to Craig, and then turn away, but Matt lingers, looking sympathetic, if also a bit annoyed. He reaches out and claps a hand on Craig’s shoulder. “Maybe don’t mess around with spirits and stuff, yeah?” He suggests. “Not really the best idea.”

“God, we never meant-” Craig breaths.

Matt grimaces. “My dad never meant to risk my life, but he still moved us out onto cursed Native land because he didn’t know any better. You don’t have to _mean_ to, to run afoul of this stuff.” He points out. “Just… be more careful.”

Craig stares at him in a mixture of bewilderment and horror. “You’re making it sound like… wait, is it- I thought I was just being- is it really our fault that girl…” He trails off, unable to finish the question.

“It was a mistake.” Meira offers. “One you’re not going to make again, right?”

“Right.” Craig says quickly, eyes filling with tears even if he refuses to let them fall.

“That’s the best you can do.” Meira says. “Oh, and give me your number.” She instructs, pulling out her phone. Craig stares at her, baffled, but Matt laughs. “That way you can call me if anything weird or inexplicable happens, yeah? Or if you have any questions about what sort of spiritualism is okay to mess around with, and what isn’t. If you have to start somewhere, healing crystals are good. Can’t really go wrong, there. Well, unless you trap some sort of malevolent spirit, god, essence, whatever in one. Then you might be in trouble. Essential oils! They don’t _really_ have frequencies, so that can make for some hilarious pranks. Don’t use them in any rituals, though, because they are plant extracts, and plants are key ingredients in a lot of nasty spellwork.”

Craig puts his number into her phone in something of a horrified daze, while Matt cracks up beside him. Once he’s done, Matt hands him his phone as well. “In case you need someone to talk to who knows this shit is real.” He adds through his lingering grin. Craig obediently inputs his number, and then his phone goes off twice in quick succession as they both send him a quick text.

“Seriously, call if you have any questions.” Meira repeats, then waves over her shoulder as she heads after Sam and Dean, Matt at her heels.

They head back to the motel, and Meira and Sam hit the books while Dean gives Matt a crash-course in a hunter’s weapons. Primarily guns, but he does, at Meira’s urging, show Matt her collection of knives. “I’m still missing a few.” She says at Matt’s stunned expression. “I don’t have a good bone knife, or ceramic, and I would _like_ a phosphor-bronze knife, but…”

Dean sighs wistfully. “That one, I’ll accept. We could all use a good demon-killing knife, but you already _have_ a bone knife, and what the hell is ceramic good for killing?”

“I have an _ivory_ knife. That’s different. And ceramic, as long as it’s made right, is a magical black hole, so it’s really, really good for killing magical constructs.” Meira explains, and Sam’s head comes up sharply out of his book. “What did I say?” Meira asks warily.

“Magical constructs.” Sam repeats, and then lunges for his phone. He clicks away at it for interminable seconds, and then thrusts it at Meira, eyebrows raised.

Meira looks at the screen, and sees a picture of a symbol spray-painted onto a wall, and she immediately realises why Sam thought of it. “You think we’re dealing with a tulpa?” She asks, and when she looks up, Sam’s expression is triumphant.

“What’s that?” Matt asks, leaning over Meira’s shoulder. “And what’s a tulpa?”

“It’s a Tibetan sigil, used to amplify and manifest thoughts, intentions.” Meira explains succinctly. “A tulpa is a type of thought-form. A creature that’s willed into existence entirely through the power of belief. Specifically, a tulpa is created by _many_ people all believing in the same thing.”

“There are other kinds?” Sam asks curiously.

Meira nods. “They’re rare, but sometimes children can be so frightened that they do actually manifest a bogeyman of sorts. Witches can manifest brownies as assistants. A certain subset of psychics can turn photographs or paintings into thought-form realities.”

“So, a ceramic knife could kill a tulpa?” Dean asks, not as interested as Sam in the theory.

“Mhm.” Meira confirms innocently.

Dean narrows his eyes at her, then sighs. “Fine, you can get another knife!” He sighs, while Meira punches the air with a cheer. So then they go shopping, which is an ordeal, as Meira quizzes the various store employees up one side and down the other about the various knives on offer. Most of them don’t know much more than what’s written on the packaging, but eventually Meira manages to find one she’s pretty sure will work.

“We’re still going to have to do something about the sigil, too.” Sam points out as they leave the hardware store. “Or he’s just going to come back again.”

“That’s going to be harder.” Meira acknowledges. “Once the tulpa’s gone, destroying the sigil _should_ work to keep it from coming back, but I’m not sure what to do about the one on that stupid website.”

“I’ve got an idea how to handle that.” Sam says, trying not to smirk too obviously.

“Yeah?” Meira prompts.

Sam shakes his head. “I’ll tell you if it works.” He says, and won’t say any more on the subject, so they focus instead on what to get for dinner.

By the time they’ve finished eating, it’s getting close to dusk, so they gear up and head out to the house, which turns out to still be unfortunately surrounded by police. “How are we going to get in there?” Matt whispers.

As if on cue, they hear badly-hushed voices and a lot of cracking from stepped-on twigs, and Meira looks over her shoulder to see two people attempting, badly, to sneak up on the house.

“I’ve got an idea.” Dean says gleefully.

Meira is still laughing about it as they hurry into the house while the police are busy chasing down the fake ghostbusters. “Right.” Sam says in a whisper once they’re inside. “Our job is to give Meira an opening to stab this bastard.” He explains to Matt as he’s opening up his duffel. Then he hands Matt a shotgun, and Matt stares at it, wide-eyed. “It’s loaded with rock-salt, so you’re not going to kill any of us even if you do mess up, but really, _don’t_ point a gun at something you’re not willing to kill, okay?”

“Okay.” Matt agrees nervously. He has a ceramic knife on him, too, because Dean had insisted, but he’s under strict orders not to go looking for a fight and to leave killing this thing up to Meira.

They head down to the basement, and spend a tense few minutes poking around trying to provoke the tulpa into showing up. Then it does, and chaos erupts. Instead of coming at them with a noose of some sort, the thing’s got an axe that it swings straight at Matt’s head. He sees the movement in the corner of his eye, yelps, and ducks. Dean fires through the air his head used to occupy, and catches the tulpa right in the chest, knocking it off balance.

Meira lunges in, knife leading, as Matt scrambles out of the way in a crouch, but the tulpa is already dissolving into black smoke. “Sam!” Matt yelps, and Sam spins and dodges the axe coming down at his head. Matt fires at the tulpa, and it staggers. Meira slashes at it again, and it raises the axe to block her strike. The blade cuts clean through the axe, which disintegrates from the point of contact. The tulpa vanishes again.

Nothing moves, nothing makes a sound. All four of them stand ready, but the tulpa doesn’t return. “Oh, come on.” Dean breathes in disgust. “Don’t tell me we scared it off.” He offers a hand to Matt, who accepts the help getting up from his crouch. His hand goes right back on his gun afterwards though, and Dean nods approvingly.

There’s a thump upstairs. They share looks, and Dean jerks his chin up in question. Meira hesitates, until the screaming starts. They bolt for the stairs, Matt falling a little behind because he doesn’t, yet, have the ingrained instinct to run _towards_ the terrified screaming. They come out in the main room to find the two fake ghostbusters cowering by the door, pointing a camera at the tulpa as it tries to wrench its new axe out of the doorjamb.

Meira takes the opening, stabbing at the tulpa’s back, but crossing the room, even at a dead run, gave it far too much time to notice her, and it vanishes again. “Mother _fucker_.” Meira swears. And then her blood runs cold as there’s a yelp from behind her, and the rather distinctive sound of a body sliding down the stairs.

“Matt!” Sam and Dean bellow in unison, followed by a single gunshot. Meira follows. From behind their bulk as they thunder back down the stairs, she can’t get a good view, but then they hit the bottom and spread out, and she sees Matt being pinned to the wall by the handle of the axe against his throat, his gun lying abandoned on the floor at his feet. Neither Sam or Dean can get a shot off to distract the thing, because it would go right through the tulpa and hit Matt, and rocksalt might be less lethal than metal, but it’ll still injure you.

“Sweet Lord-!” One of the idiots gasps behind her as Meira shoves between Sam and Dean.

But before she can reach Matt, the tulpa starts to disintegrate. It’s not the dark wisping it does when it leaves voluntarily, but the bright clean dissolution of a magical cleansing. It starts in the center of its torso and spreads out to all its limbs, slowly revealing Matt, slumping a little now that he’s not being pinned to the wall, his own knife thrust out in front of him.

“-of the Rings.” The other idiot finishes, more hushed and awed than his friend.

“You okay, Matt?” Meira checks.

Matt stares at her. “Yeah.” He says breathlessly, and not very convincing. “Yeah, I- We should- should get rid of the sigil now, right?” He prompts, and Meira decides to accept it. She nods, and turns towards the stairs. Sam and Dean are relaxing now, and Sam even musters up a smile for Matt as he passes him, clapping him on the shoulder and telling him he did a good job.

Meira fixes her glare on the two idiots at the top of the stairs with the video camera and marches towards them with every intention of cutting her way through them if she has to. Like she hoped, they scatter immediately, running for the exit. Going by the sounds of it, Meira’s pretty sure they just ran into the police on the porch.

“We’re not going to have time to clean this sigil up.” Sam says as he reaches the top of the stairs, eyeing the doorway where they can just see a slice of one of the fake ghostbusters’ backs.

There’s a moment of silence in which the frantic babbled words “-stabbed him-!” can be heard.

“I’ve heard fire can be cleansing.” Dean suggests.

They don’t have any better ideas, so they sneak away from the front of the house and Meira and Sam usher Matt out of a window while Dean sneaks around some more, dousing the place with the spare can of gasoline that they always keep in the duffel. He’s the last out, right behind Meira, and all four of them run towards the forest as the house catches fire.

* * *

**Tulsa, Oklahoma – Saturday 10 th  June 2006 **

“You’re back a day early?” Larry asks when he opens the door, then gets distracted from the answer by a pressing need to hug his son. “How did it go? You’re not hurt, are you?” He demands, looking about an inch away from calling for an ambulance anyway.

“Dad, I’m fine.” Matt promises. He’s wearing a high-necked jacket to hide the line of bruises across the base of his throat. Meira figures that won’t work for long, but by the time it stops working, she, at least, won’t have to be present for the fall out.

“We would have been back yesterday, but the job got a little more complicated than we were expecting.” Meira tells Larry, which is maybe a little unkind, because his eyes widen at the word ‘complicated’, and his grip on Matt tightens.

“Complicated? What do you mean?” Joanie asks from behind her husband, shouldering her way in to get her own hug from Matt.

“It’s a bit of a long story.” Dean hedges.

“Well, come on in, and tell us all about it.” Joanie instructs, in the sort of tone that’s all sweet and polite but still, somehow, implacable. So they go on in and tell them all about it. Joanie serves up coffee and snacks, and Meira, Sam, and Dean let Matt do most of the story-telling. He leaves out the part where the tulpa dragged him down the stairs and tried to strangle him against the wall, but not the part where he got to stab the thing.

He also, Meira is incredibly proud to notice, very carefully makes it sound like they cleaned the sigil off the wall rather than just burning the whole house down to get rid of it, without actually _saying_ anything that was untrue. “Oh, Sam, you never did say how you got the sigil off the website.” Matt remembers, looking at Sam expectantly.

Sam grins like a mischievous little imp. Meira is shocked at how much it makes him look like Rob, and she has to take a moment to push down the pang at the reminder than she’s not in her right time. “I, uh, I called the fake ghostbuster guys and pretended I was a producer in Hollywood.” He admits proudly. Dean laughs in delight. “Told them I wanted to offer them a movie deal, but one of the conditions would be that they’d have to take down their website. Copyright issues, you understand.” Even Joanie and Larry join in the laughter then, and Dean claps Sam on the shoulder proudly.

“Alright, well, we’d better hit the road.” Dean says, getting to his feet once the laughter has died. He points at Matt. “If you notice any hunts around here, for god’s sake, call us. We’ll take you along if we can, but don’t try to tackle anything by yourself, y’hear me, Princess?” He prompts sternly.

“Yeah.” Matt agrees, nodding. “Thanks.”

Dean waves that off, ruffles Matt’s hair, then heads for the door. “Don’t fall behind on your schoolwork.” Sam adds. “You’ll regret it if you let your life slip away from you because of this.”

“I know, Sam. I won’t.” Matt swears. Sam gives him a quick hug, then follows Dean. “Do _you_ have any orders for me?” Matt asks Meira, exasperated if in a rather fond sort of way.

Meira grins at him. “Raise some hell for me, and stay in touch.”


	6. Toil and Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Another Shakespeare quote for the chapter title, although, I'll admit, I mostly got this from the song from the Harry Potter movies)

**Fitchburg, Wisconsin – Tuesday 13 th  June 2006 **

Standing in the hospital in Fitchburg, looking through a glass pane at the row of unconscious children, Meira can honestly say that she’s looking forward to this job. It’s one thing to hunt people, it’s another entirely to specifically hunt children. While Sam and Dean interrogate the doctor, Meira runs through a list of all the things that prefer to attack children. There are a lot of them, far too many, in her opinion, but most of them don’t tend to leave their victims alive.

It almost looks like the work of a djinn, all six of them sleeping in peaceful rows, except, of course, that there’s not enough blood being taken, and djinns don’t blend in all that well. But perhaps, if it’s not blood that’s being stolen, it’s something else. “Mind if I…?” Meira asks, pointing into the room and interrupting the flow of information from the nurse.

“Of course, but… they’re not conscious, you won’t get much from them.” The doctor tells her apologetically. Meira flashes him a smile, and doesn’t bother to respond as she slips into the room through the door the nurse is holding open for her.

She goes in and makes a bit of a show of reading the child’s chart and then pretends to check their lymph nodes, while really, all she wants is skin-to-skin contact. Sure enough, when she tests the boundaries of her binding, the soul beyond her fingertips feels wrong. A child’s soul should be bright and amorphous, multicoloured and ever-changing, but this feels muted, diminished, fragile to the point that Meira is actually concerned for how long it will be able to hold onto this plane.

“Garden-variety pneumonia, you said?” She checks with the nurse.

“That’s what we thought, anyway.” The nurse says, shrugging helplessly.

“And they’re not responding to _any_ antibiotics?” Meira goes on, although she doesn’t really need to ask, and getting only a regretful head-shake in response. “Alright, I’ll let you get back to work.” She says to the nurse, who goes. Meira heads out to find Sam and Dean talking to one of the parents. When she reaches them, they finish up and thank the father of the latest victims.

“You know, this might not be anything supernatural.” Sam points out as they’re leaving. “It might just be pneumonia.”

Meira shakes her head. “I doubt it. I thought it might have been the work of a djinn, but they need constant access to the blood. They’ve taken some blood for testing, but not enough. But blood isn’t the only way to steal someone’s life-force. I’ll bet you twenty bucks this is a shtriga.”

Dean looks at her sharply, but it’s Sam who says, “Alright, you’re on. What’s a shtriga?”

“It’s the spiritual version of a wendigo.” Meira tells him. “A witch decided they didn’t have enough power by themselves, so they started stealing it from other people, and it corrupted them, turning them monstrous. Unlike a wendigo, though, it’s not a corruption of the flesh, but of the soul, which is both subtler and just generally worse.”

“Like the bastard lovechild of a witch, a wendigo, and a demon.” Dean suggests darkly.

“Yeah.” Meira agrees. “And because it’s like an addiction to them, often they’ll leave behind decay and putrefaction, because they soak up the life-force of the things they touch, too. It’s never enough to satisfy them, nothing compared to feeding off a living soul, but that doesn’t stop them.” She explains with a sneer.

“Do they only go after kids?” Dean asks stiffly.

Meira shakes her head. “No, anything with a soul would do, even monsters or demons, although I can’t imagine a shtriga would _want_ to feed off a demon. But then, some people like fermented milk, so…” She shrugs helplessly.

Dean grunts an acknowledgement. “Then I know why Dad sent us here.” He says. “He’s faced this thing before, and he wants us to finish the job.”

“Wait, you think it’s the _same one_?” Sam echoes as they reach the parking lot.

“That’s what I just said, Sam.”

“But if Dad went after it, why is it still breathing air?” Sam demands, pausing by the Impala and not actually getting in, in favour of continuing the conversation.

“Because it got away.” Dean tells him shortly, opening the driver’s door and getting in. Sam looks annoyed, but follows Dean’s lead. They bicker about the hunt John apparently went on but didn’t record all the way to the motel, while Meira tries to pretend she’s invisible in the back seat. She doesn’t really want to draw attention to herself while they’re discussing their father. She hadn’t exactly behaved with grace when she met the man, and his parting shot still lingers in her mind. She hopes to God that it isn’t lingering in Sam and Dean’s minds, too, although she’s pretty sure her luck isn’t that good.

On arriving at the motel, Meira heads into the office to get them some rooms, while Sam and Dean collect their duffels from the trunk. She’s greeted at the desk by a kid, who looks out of the glass door, then back at her with raised eyebrows. “D’you want a double and a single, or just the king?” He asks impertinently.

Meira can’t help but laugh. Awkward as the implications are, she’s entertained by the kid’s sheer nerve. “Whatever arrangement gets us three separate beds.” She tells him firmly. The kid gives her a distinctly dubious look, but dutifully notes it down. “You must see a lot of interesting people come through here.” Meira remarks.

The kid glances up at her with a hilariously world-weary expression. “You have no idea.”

Before Meira can answer, the door chimes behind her, and she turns to see a dark-haired woman stepping inside. “Hi, checking in?” She asks Meira, who nods. The woman turns to the kid. “Do me a favour, go get your brother some lunch?”

“I’m helping a customer!” The kid protests.

The woman who has to be his mother, or some sort of parental figure, gives him a _look_ , and he turns away reluctantly, relinquishing his place at the counter to her. “Your son?” Meira asks, leaning one elbow on the counter.

The woman glances at her and nods before reading over her son’s notes. “I’m sorry about him.” She says with a tired sort of fondness.

“No, no, you’ve got nothing to apologise for. He’s a good kid.” Meira assures her.

“You’d be the first customer he’s ‘helped’ to say that.” The woman replies, making a face at the paperwork before meeting Meira’s gaze again. “He’s got a bad habit of making _insinuations_. Thinks he’s being funny.”

Meira snorts. “I noticed.” She agrees, and the woman closes her eyes like she’s praying for patience. “As uncomfortable as it was, since they’re my _cousins_ ,” Meira says, jerking her thumb over her shoulder, “I have to admire his nerve.”

“You’re very kind.” The woman says, smiling in a mixture of exasperated pride and good humour. “So, you want a single and two queens?” She checks.

“That’s right.” Meira confirms, digging in her pockets for cash. She exchanges it for keys, then goes to open the doors of their rooms for Sam and Dean. Once she’s settled into her own room, which consists of throwing her duffel in the direction of the bed, she joins Sam and Dean in their room for take-out and strategising.

“So, how do we kill a shtriga?” Sam asks.

“With difficulty.” Meira replies. “Most of the time, they’re basically invulnerable.”

“Really?” Sam asks incredulously. “I thought they were just a type of witch, right? Shouldn’t that make them vulnerable to… pretty much anything a human is?”

“The same could be said of wendigos.” Meira retorts, and Sam reluctantly acknowledges the point. “They start out as witches, sure, but…” She trails off, once again stymied by her inability to explain _how_ she knows that souls are the most powerful source of energy in existence, they’re already indestructible, so augmenting one with stolen life-force is only going to increase that power and strength. “Just like a wendigo, they take on the vitality of the people they attack.” Meira hedges eventually. “Making them basically impossible to kill.”

“That’s not entirely true.” Dean counters.

Meira closes her mouth on her own version of that point, looking to Dean. “Oh, yeah?” Sam asks, oddly dubious.

Dean gives his brother an annoyed look. “They’re vulnerable when they’re feeding.” He announces. “Catch them while they’re eating, and you can kill them with consecrated wrought iron.” He pauses, then looks to Meira challengingly “Right?”

Sam looks to Meira too, and she suddenly feels like she’s nine again, getting quizzed on how to defend herself and others from this or that threat. “Iron is good for grounding, so it’s effective against magical creatures as well as spirits, and wrought iron is worked repeatedly, which makes it even more effective against magic because of the effort and intent put into shaping it.” She recites dutifully. “And then you need to consecrate to counteract the defilement of the soul that makes the shtriga what it is.”

Dean snorts. “Well, I didn’t really need to know all that. A simple ‘yeah, that’ll work’ would’ve done.” Meira gives him a pissy look, and he grins right back.

“How _did_ you know that would work?” Sam asks him incredulously.

“Dad told me.” Dean lies. Sam obviously catches the lie, too, because he tries to press for answers, which Dean deflects blithely. Sam rolls his eyes, shares an exasperated look with Meira, then lets it go with obvious reluctance. “So now we just need to find the thing.”

“Which isn’t going to be easy.” Meira interjects.

“Why not?”

“Because they can still look human if they put a bit of effort into it. They’re witches, remember?” Meira points out, and Sam and Dean both groan. “It’s gotta be someone nearby, though, because they’re going to want to-” Meira’s phone cuts her off, and she pulls it out of her pocket to check the caller ID. Once she sees the name there, her eyebrows fly up and she can’t help but stare.

“Who is it?” Sam asks curiously.

“Lori.” Meira tells him, too stunned to manage more than that before she remembers she really ought to answer it. “Hey, Lori.” She greets. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, yes. I’m fine.” Lori assures her, belatedly realising what a sudden phone call from her might look like from the other end. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.” She clears her throat. “How are you? And Sam? And- and Dean?”

Meira quirks a befuddled smile. “We’re alright. Not dead yet.”

Lori makes a concerned noise. “That sounds ominous.”

“Well, you saw for yourself that ghost-hunting can be a dangerous job.” Meira reminds her. “We’ve had a few close shaves here and there. Dean electrocuted himself this one time, and Sam nearly got eaten.” Both brothers pull faces at her bringing those events up, and Meira smiles sunnily at them. “But we’re all still in one piece, so there’s nothing to worry about.” She assures her.

“If you say so.” Lori sighs, not sounding convinced at all.

“So, why did you call?” Meira prompts, amused. Sam and Dean go back to their discussion of how to find a shtriga, and Meira drifts to the door and out so she won’t interrupt them. “I’m guessing this isn’t exactly a social call, somehow.”

Lori sighs again. “Well, it sort of is.” She hedges, and then groans to herself. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have called. This was stupid.”

“I gave you my number so you could call me if you needed to.” Meira reminds her. “That’s not exclusively limited to supernatural disasters. What’s bugging you?”

“My dad’s getting married.” Lori bursts out.

Meira thinks back. “To that woman he told you he was seeing? The married one?”

“Yes! She just got divorced, like, two weeks ago, and they’re already making plans for the wedding.” Lori huffs. “He says it’s all just ideas right now, they’re not really _planning_ anything, but it’s so _obvious_ that she’s just- just destroying her family, over-turning her kids lives, _just_ to marry my dad, and I- I don’t understand how they can _do this_.” She fumes.

Meira considers that. “I agree it’s kind of tacky, but isn’t it better that they’re taking steps to be open about it, instead of sneaking around behind her husband’s back?”

“I suppose you’re right.” Lori agrees reluctantly. “But why can’t they just- just _not_? Why should they be _rewarded_ for- for betraying Mr Finch like this?!” Meira lets the silence settle after that outburst, wondering if she’s going to have to spell it out for Lori. “But that was your point, wasn’t it?” She sighs. “They’re not being rewarded for that, they’re being rewarded for- for _not_ lying about it anymore.”

Meira chuckles. “No, Lori. They’re not being rewarded at all. It’s just cause and effect, not some divine system of justice. Maybe they’ll get married and live happily ever after, and maybe that’s not fair, but there’s every chance that the way they started this is going to poison their future together, and their relationship is going to fail.”

Lori makes a dissatisfied noise at that. “It’s not that I _want_ them to be unhappy. I’m just… I’m so _angry_ about this, and I don’t know what to _do_.”

“Because of the double standard?” Meira suggests. “Your dad set rules for you, and punished you if you broke them, and now he’s breaking the rules, and expecting to get away with it?”

“Yes!” Lori agrees emphatically. “God, that makes me a terrible person, doesn’t it?” Lori realises quietly.

“No, it really doesn’t. You have every right to be angry.” Meira assures her.

“Really?”

Meira snorts. “Really really. You said yourself you don’t want them to be unhappy. That’s a very kind thing to think, given how angry you are.” She points out. “You just have to accept that you can’t control his decisions, just like he can’t control yours, no matter how hard he tried when you were younger.”

Lori sighs into the phone. “Thank you.” She says after a long silence. “I feel terrible that I’m only calling you to whine about things. Tell me what you’ve been doing? Sam nearly got _eaten_ ? By _what_?”

“Humans. And, okay, I’m not _one hundred_ percent sure they were going to eat him. If they were eating the people they killed, they should’ve been turning into wendigos, but… maybe the mindset was wrong.” Meira shrugs.

“That sounds…” Lori trails off, but Meira’s pretty sure the next word would have been along the lines of ‘disgusting’.

“You know what? You should ask Sam to tell you all about it. And ask about the fake ghostbusters, that story’s a _lot_ funnier.” Meira decides, heading back inside.

“Oh, um, I don’t want to make him feel- feel awkward.” Lori says, very awkwardly.

“Oh, don’t even worry about it. These idiots could use a few more friends.” Meira tells her cheerfully, earning herself some more annoyed looks. “Lori wants to talk to you, Sam, catch up and shit.” She explains, holding the phone out to Sam.

Dean leers at him as it takes it, earning his own turn under Sam’s bitch-face. “Hey, Lori.”

“Hi. Look, you don’t have to- Don’t let Meira bully you into anything.” Lori says firmly. “It’s fine if you just want to hang up now.”

Sam laughs. “No, no. It’s good to hear from you.” Sam assures her, and then they’re off, sharing stories and catching up. Meira drops down to sit on the unoccupied bed next to Dean’s duffel, feeling inordinately pleased with herself. While Sam’s on the phone, Dean catches Meira up on his theory about who the shtriga is.

Meira gives him a dubious look. “You do know the inverted cross isn’t necessarily a sign of evil, right? It’s also known as the Cross of Saint Peter, because Saint Peter was a moron who thought he wasn’t worthy of being crucified the same way as Jesus. Like there was any honour in which _method_ they chose to execute him.” She rolls her eyes, and Dean rolls his eyes right back.

“But sometimes, it _does_ represent evil.” Dean retorts. “It’s at least worth checking out.”

“Sometimes an _upright_ cross represents evil, but no one’s let me go around shooting all the assholes with upright crosses on their walls yet.” Meira grouses, and Dean snorts. Once Sam is off the phone and dusk is falling, they go check out the hospital, and Meira laughs all the way back to the motel, snickering out more than one ‘I told you so’, much to Dean’s annoyance.

* * *

**Fitchburg, Wisconsin – Wednesday 14 th  June 2006 **

Their next plan is to scour the library for any information that might help them narrow down their pool of suspects. They’re on their way to the Impala, Meira and Dean bickering about what to grab for breakfast on their way, when Meira spots the owner’s kid sitting slumped and miserable on a bench outside the office. Meira catches Dean’s eye and tips her head towards him, and he nods, frowning in concern, so they head over.

“Hey.” Meira greets, dropping to sit on the bench beside the kid. Dean crouches down on his other side, while Sam hovers in the background. “What’s up?”

“My brother’s sick.” The kid says, expression contorting.

Meira feels her gut lurch in belated panic, horrified to realise that a shtriga had been _in the same building as her_ and she’d freaking slept through it like some brain-dead moron. “Pneumonia?” She asks. The kid looks up at her sharply, then nods miserably, attention returning to the floor. “It’s been going around lately.” Meira says dryly, trying not to let her tone get too dark.

The kid angsts about it being his fault, while Dean comforts him, and Meira just tries to swallow back her rage. It’s twisting her heart, seeing this kid who was full of sass and mischief sitting there so desolate and miserable. Then his mom shows up, obviously half way to panic and trying desperately not to show it in front of her kid.

The kid, Michael, insists on going with her to the hospital, which nearly devolves into an argument until Dean steps in. “Hey, Michael, hey. I know how you feel, I’m a big brother too, but you’ve gotta go easy on your mom right now, okay?” Dean prompts, and Michael nods reluctantly.

His mom is clearly in no fit state to drive, hands shaking so badly she drops her bag, so Dean offers to drive her. After a token protest, she accepts, then turns to Michael with the instruction “Be good.”

“If it’s alright with you, we could stay with Michael?” Meira suggests tentatively. Michael’s mom looks at her, startled. “Keep him out of trouble.” She adds, when what she really means is keep him busy so he’s got less time to fret and brood.

“Meira.” Sam says, a little impatient. “What about our plans? At the library?” He prompts, very carefully not saying, but just as carefully implying, ‘that really important research we need to do to save lives’.

Meira gives him an impatient look of her own, but since she can’t explain what she’s thinking in front of Michael’s mom, instead she just shrugs. “Or he can come to the library with us.” She capitulates. Sam purses his lips, looking pissy, but doesn’t argue again.

His mom hesitates, looking uncertain. Then she turns to Michael. “It’s up to you.” She says simply.

Michael thinks about it for maybe a second before he nods. “Sweet. I’ve always wanted a gopher of my very own.” Meira says, and Michael wrinkles his nose at her. She laughs and ruffles his hair. “Come on, kid. We’ve got research to do.”

They pile into the Impala once Michael’s done with his last-minute chores, and Sam drives them to the library. “So. What are you researching?” Michael asks as they head inside. It’s not quite enthusiastic, but at least he’s showing a modicum of interest in something that isn’t brooding over his brother. Sam shoots Meira a warning glare, and Meira looks back with her eyebrows raised. Michael catches the exchange. “What? Is it top secret or something?” He mocks scathingly.

“No.” Sam says through gritted teeth. “Just silly.” He capitulates, looking away.

“We’re researching witches.” Meira tells Michael, allowing the half-truth with a roll of her eyes.

Michael gives them both a look that’s honestly less dubious than Meira was expecting. “Witches.” He repeats carefully. “Like, cackling old hags on broomsticks, witches?”

“Actually, yeah.” Meira confirms. “Although, you know, the whole hags thing only happens to a few witches. Most witches are just people, but some of them-”

“Meira.” Sam bites out.

Meira stares him dead in the eye and keeps talking. “Some of them go around stealing life-force from other people, and it corrupts them, turns them into what you’d probably call a hag. Twisted and wrinkled and kind of skeletal.”

Sam throws his hands in the air and turns away, but Michael goes pale. “Do they, um… do they usually wear these long black robes and have this- this glowing mouth-thing?” He asks, hushed and frightened.

Sam turns back around slowly, frowning. “Yeah.” Meira says. “Dunno about the cloak, but the glowing mouth thing, that’s what happens when they’re feeding.”

“Feeding.” Michael repeats, staring at her in horror. “That’s why Asher got sick.” He realises. “I thought it was just a nightmare, but… that’s it, isn’t it? This witch came and- and stole his life-force, so now he’s sick.”

“Yeah.” Meira confirms.

“Is...” Michael swallows hard. “Is Asher gonna die?” He whispers, voice trembling.

Meira reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to kill this thing before it comes to that, Michael.” She swears. Michael stares at her, horrified by the implication that, yes, his little brother is, technically, dying right now. “You know, Michael, we could use your help with that.” She goes on, feeling kind of like a manipulative asshole, even though every word she’s speaking is truth.

Sam does a double-take. “Michael, would you excuse us for just one second?” Sam says tightly, then grabs Meira arm and hauls her off into the shelves, leaving the kid staring wide-eyed at their backs. “What the hell are you thinking?” He hisses.

Meira stares at him, bewildered. “Isn’t it better that he’s forewarned? Instead of waking up with a monster looming over him tonight only to have three nutjobs with guns bursting in and shooting up the place? At least this way, he’ll be prepared!”

“ _Prepared_?” Sam echoes incredulously. “You make it sound like we’re going to let this thing have him! Which we’re _not_.”

“What part of ‘only vulnerable when it’s feeding’ do you not understand?” Meira retorts. “We don’t _need_ to know this thing’s identity when we can just shoot the motherfucker tonight and be done.”

“We are _not_ using a _kid_ as _bait_.” Sam stresses.

“You wanna let this thing _go_?”

“No! Of course not, but-”

“But nothing. Another kid is going to have to be in danger before this thing dies, so, personally, I’d like it to be a kid who’s not too young to understand, who can be warned, and given a fucking gun with consecrated iron rounds so that even _if_ we fall down on the job, which we _won’t_ , he can take care of his god damned self.” Meira rants.

“He shouldn’t _have to_.”

“You’re right, he shouldn’t.” Meira agrees. “In an ideal world, no one would even dream of hurting kids, but since he’s already been threatened, are you really going to sit there whining that he shouldn’t have to deal with this, or are you going to muscle up and give him the tools he needs to keep himself safe?”

Sam opens his mouth, frustration clearly about to boil over, when a voice pipes up from Meira’s elbow. “I’ll do it.” They both look down to see Michael standing there, scowling something fierce. “Asher’s in trouble, and it’s my job to take care of him. I’ll help.”

Sam sighs. “Fine.” He huffs reluctantly. “You know how to handle a gun?” He asks.

“…Yes.” Michael says, very belligerently and after a pause that’s just a beat too long.

Meira snorts. “Don’t lie to me.” Sam warns him.

Michael hunches in on himself resentfully. “No.” He capitulates. “I’m _thirteen_.” He reminds them, sounding every inch a snotty little brat.

“Right, well, you’re gonna learn.” Sam informs him, and Michael perks right up, eyes wide and maybe a little excited, somewhere under the lingering worry. Then Sam hesitates, glancing around. “Meira, can you teach him? Two instructors’ll be a crowd, and I still want to see what I can find here.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Meira confirms, saluting him. Sam gives her a scathing look, then passes her the keys to the Impala and heads off into the depths of the library. Meira snorts after him, shaking her head in bemusement, then turning to Michael. “Come on, kid, your crash course in how to kill a hag awaits.” She tells him, and Michael follows her back out to the car.

Meira takes him to a firing range, first, spins a series of cheerful lies and gets Michael set up practising his aim. Once the giddy thrill has worn off and his aim has proven to be decent, Meira lectures him all the way back to the motel on the basic principles of ‘guns are not toys, do not point them at anyone you’re not willing to kill’. It successfully kills the last of Michael’s excitement at doing something so dangerous and forbidden.

“You guys are kind of shady, you know that?” Michael asks her as she leads the way into her motel room. He gives the room, with it’s collection of knives that Meira was cleaning and maintaining last night, and the scattering of the medical reports that she’d filched from the hospital, a dubious look. “ _Really_ shady.” He corrects himself.

“We’re basically part of a secret militia, so shady’s a good word for it.” Meira replies cheerfully. “Now,” she picks up her iron knife, flips it around, and hands it to him, “We don’t have time to teach you _everything_ , but basic rule? Pointy end goes in the other guy. Okay?”

Michael snorts, holding the knife out in front of him. “Okay.” He agrees, his knuckles going white for a moment as his grip on the knife tightens. “So how- what’s-” He trails off helplessly, and looks up at Meira pleadingly.

Meira sits down, and pats the bed beside her, inviting Michael to sit as well. After a moment, he does. “So. The shtriga, hag, witch, whatever, it’s going to come after you tonight.” She explains. Michael nods slowly, looking frightened again. “That’s what it does, it works it’s way through families. If everything goes right, it’ll come in to start feeding on you, and when it does, we’ll be there to kill it. But just in case, you’re getting your own knife and gun. If you feel you need to, you use them alright?” Meira prompts, and Michael nods solemnly. “Watch your timing, though, because with shtrigas, the only time they’re vulnerable is when they’re feeding.”

“Why?” Michael asks.

“Because that’s when all their power is bent on tearing apart a healthy soul. Trust me, souls are resilient as hell, it takes everything the witch has to pry it open enough to start siphoning bits off, so none of its power is going into shielding itself.” Meira explains, and Michael nods. It’s nice, Meira thinks wistfully, to be able to explain these things without worrying about explaining how she knows. Michael’s young enough that he just takes it as gospel, because she’s an adult and she told him with authority.

“Because it’s technically a spirit, or at least a spiritually deformed creature, the only weapon that’s going to work on it is iron, and because it’s cursed itself, that iron has to be consecrated.”

“Consecrated?” Michael repeats dubiously.

“Blessed.” Meira explains. “Which is what we’re going to do now.” She adds, nodding towards the knife, and then going to her duffel and pulling out a handful of iron rounds to scatter across the table. Michael joins her in standing over them, looking down at them curiously. “Most people will tell you that you need a priest to consecrate anything, but that’s bullshit. The key to any successful blessing is faith. It doesn’t even have to be faith in God. So, Michael, what do you believe in?”

Michael frowns deeply. “I… I don’t know.” He says finally. “What about you?” He returns like a challenge.

“I have faith in people.” Meira replies as once, half-smiling. “I believe in me, and you, and Sam and Dean, and your mom. I believe in my family, in the love we have for each other, and the lengths we’ll go to, to protect each other. I believe that I already have the power to murder the ever-loving shit out of any motherfucker that thinks it’s okay to hurt kids.”

Michael blinks at her, then snorts and grins. “Yeah, I think I can believe in that, too.”

“Now, Christians have a bit of a leg up on the whole ritual consecration thing because the religion is so damn big. That’s a _lot_ of people all believing in roughly the same thing, so invoking that has a lot more oomph than invoking the power of Michael Grant of Fitchburg.” Michael pulls a face. “But both work, because the power of the human soul is infinite.”

Michael considers that. “Then how is this thing killing Asher? If he’s supposed to have infinite energy or whatever?

“Souls are indestructible sources of infinite energy, but that doesn’t make them inviolable.” Michael squints at her, irritated by her convoluted language. “They might be really powerful and a constantly re-charging batteries, but they can still be damaged. And having someone reaching in and tearing chunks out is right up there on the list of things that can fuck you up. Souls aren’t actually native to this plane, you know. It takes _effort_ for them to stay. If they get too damaged, they won’t be able to cling to this reality anymore, and they’ll slip away to somewhere more peaceful.”

“Oh.” Michael says quietly. Then he clears his throat. “So, how do we do this blessing thing.”

Meira shrugs, because a certain level of ceremony is important, but the truly important bit, as she said, is the faith. She picks up one of the bullets and holds her palm out flat, the bullet nestled in the center. “Let this iron, worked by mortal hands and shaped by mortal minds, be made clean and pure. Let no evil endure its presence, let no cruelty taint it. By my soul, by my grace, by my will, so mote it be.” Meira says, then puts the bullet on the other side of the table. “There, blessed. Just off the top of my head.”

“Nothing happened.” Michael complains.

Meira considers him, then says “Close your eyes and hold out your hands, palms up.” Dubiously, he does so and Meira picks up the blessed bullet, and another one. Then she drops one into each of his palms. “Which one is the one I just blessed?” She asks. “Don’t open your eyes. She adds, when Michael begins to do so.

Michael frowns, eyes scrunching shut again. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“Try.” Meira instructs.

She can tell that Michael is rolling his eyes, even with his eyes shut. “I don’t know, this one?” He asks, holding up his left hand.

“How did you know?” Meira asks, plucking the bullets out of his hands again. Michael opens his eyes, frowning more than ever.

“I… I don’t know.” He says again, shrugging uncomfortably. “It just…”

“Felt right?” Meira suggests.

“Yeah.” Michael says finally.

Meira gives him a ‘there you go’ sort of look, then puts the blessed bullet aside and holds out the other one. “Or we can do it like this: Benedicto patris omnipotentis sit super hanc creaturae ferri. Which is Latin for ‘the blessing of the Almighty Father upon this creation of iron.’ Nice and simple.” She explains, then puts that bullet with the first and picks up another. “Or we can do it like this: Spirits of earth, spirits of air, spirits of water, spirits of fire. With your power I consecrate this bullet, and charge it with sacred energies.” She plops that one down with the others. “There’s a thousand thousand ways to consecrate something, but it won’t work if you don’t _believe_ that it will.”

Michael nods, and then picks up one of the bullets. “How did the Latin one go again?” He asks.

Smiling, Meira coaches him through the Latin, and lets him bless his first bullet. They’re still working their way through all the iron rounds that Meira has, and all the ones she went and fetched from the trunk of the Impala, when they hear raised voices from the room next door. “Looks like Sam and Dean are back.” She comments, frowning a little.

“Sounds like they’re having a domestic.” Michael mutters, and Meira snorts.

“You keep working, I’ll go see what’s got their panties in a bunch.” She says, and leaves the room to the sound of Michael laughing. She knocks perfunctorily, then opens the door. Sam and Dean are both seated, with an air of tense misery about them. Meira is instantly on alert. “What’s wrong?” She asks immediately.

“Dean thinks it’s his fault this shtriga’s still alive.” Sam tells her. Dean makes a disgusted noise, but doesn’t argue with him.

“That’s what you’ve been trying not to let us see.” Meira realises. Dean shoots her a look, then capitulates, and tells them the story. Meira has to swallow down a mixture of grief and rage at the quiet, muted guilt in her dad’s voice. She tries to swap the roles, tries to imagine herself in Dean’s shoes, Dean in John’s, and Jace in Sam’s, but that only makes her feel more sick.

“He gave me an order and I didn’t listen, and I almost got you killed.” Dean finishes.

“You were just a kid-” Sam begins, soft and earnest.

“Don’t.” Dean snaps.

Meira’s not willing to let that stand. “Sam’s right.” She says, ignoring Dean’s repeated, harsher ‘don’t’. “That was absolutely not your fault. _Maybe_ it was a mistake for you to go out that night, but newsflash, Dean, _John_ wasn’t there to protect Sam, either.” Dean’s expression shutters, but Meira refuses to let it stop her. “That was not your burden to bear, and you shouldn’t have been expected to handle it by yourself, or to carry the guilt for it going tits up.”

“Not my burden?” Dean echoes incredulously. “You’re rocking some pretty impressive double standards there, Meira.” Meira rears back, bewildered. “You’re happy to put the burden of stopping this thing on Michael, but when I’m the one that cocks up, I shouldn’t have been expected to handle it?”

Meira gives an incredulous laugh. “Oh, wow, they are _not_ the same thing at all.” She bites out furiously, and raises a hand so she can tick points off on her fingers. “One, we didn’t drag Michael into this thing’s hunting grounds in the first place. Two, we’re not ditching him on his own with _no idea_ what a shtriga is or _why_ he might be in danger.” Dean opens his mouth to argue, but Meira presses on, raising her voice. “Three, we’re not expecting Michael to gank this thing himself. We’re teaching him how _in case_ we fall down on the job, because we’re human and fallible, not because we’re _not going to be there._ Four, we’re not telling Michael that it’s _his fault_ his brother’s sick because he saw the shtriga and didn’t, I don’t know, fist-fight the ominous cloaked monster that crept in through the window.”

“Jesus, Meira!” Dean bursts out. “You can’t expect a civilian kid to-”

“ _Exactly_.” Meira retorts, cutting him off. “You might have had a little more training under your belt than him, but you were exactly the same age as him, and _you_ didn’t know what you were up against, either. And _five_!” Meira adds, before Dean can argue that point as well. “ _Five_ , I _know_ that if this thing does get away tonight, you’re not going to be telling Michael that it’s his damn fault. _You’re_ not going to look at him like he’s a failure for being _human_.”

Dean shakes his head. “It’s not the same.”

Meira huffs, all her anger draining out of her as fast as it came. “Maybe it’s not identical, but it’s close enough.” She says. “John was wrong to blame _you_ when he wasn’t there either.” She repeats, and Dean looks away, swallowing convulsively and not at all convinced. It makes Meira want to hit things, or scream until her throat’s raw and all the windows have shattered. “And one day,” she goes on, feeling reckless and hurt and angry all over again, “one day, you’re going to be _ten times_ the father John Winchester _ever_ was.” Dean scoffs, but Sam’s smiling. “You know how I know that?” Meira asks.

Dean gives her a look, then rolls his eyes and obliges her by asking “How?”

“Because you remind me of my dad.” Meira tells him with a rueful smile.

Dean lets out a laugh that sounds like it hurts, but there’s a thread of genuine amusement in it that eases some of the sick tension out of Meira’s gut. “Coming from you, that’s a hell of a compliment.” Dean acknowledges.

“Damn straight it is.” Meira agrees.

There’s a moment’s silence, the span of a breath to let the moment settle, and then someone clears their throat from the doorway. It’s Michael, of course, looking around at them all with raised eyebrows and a deeply unimpressed expression. “I’m done consecrating the bullets.” He tells Meira. “If you’re all done yelling at each other.”

That kills the last of the lingering tension, and they spend the rest of the day fielding Michael’s questions about the supernatural and teaching him a little bit more about self-defence. Meira also gets his mobile number, as well as the number for the motel itself, and makes him swear up and down that if he notices anything odd happening he will call her first, not go digging himself.

Around dusk, Michael’s mother calls home from the hospital and tells Michael that she’s going to be staying over-night with Asher. Michael manages to not-lie his way through telling his mom about his day; “They were doing weird mythology research, it was boring. Meira tried to teach me _Latin_.” Then he gives the phone to Meira, and Joanne thanks her for looking after Michael and asks her to make sure he eats and goes to bed on time, if it’s not too much of an imposition.

Meira assures her it’s fine, and does, in fact, do exactly that. They eat, Meira throwing together omelettes from the contents of the Grants’ fridge, and then Michael goes to bed and pretends to sleep, while Meira lurks by the half-open door, and Sam and Dean watch the feed from the camera they put on Michael’s bedroom shelf.

In the end, it’s all very anticlimactic. The shtriga comes in through the window, looms over Michael, and just as its mouth begins to glow, Meira bursts into the room. She doesn’t get to fire a single bullet, however, because Michael’s already put a knife through it’s chin.


	7. From the Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from one of Tolkien's poems for Lord of the Rings)

**St Louis, Missouri – Friday 23 rd  June 2006 **

“Oh, I’m so glad you guys could come!” Becky exclaims when she opens the door to find the three of them on her doorstep. Sam looks awkward, but he smiles as she gives him a hug. “Cause, for a minute there, I could have sworn you were trying to blow me off.” She adds as she draws back, giving Sam a stern look. Sam grimaces sheepishly, about half a second from scuffing his foot like a schoolboy. Becky smacks him on the arm. “Sam!” She chides.

“He did really want to come.” Meira interjects, leaning around Dean and sliding her sunglasses down her nose. She’s got reasons to try and disguise her appearance when she’s in St Louis, after all, and a hat, sunglasses, and leaving her hair down for once is her contribution to that. “He just thinks he shouldn’t because-” Meira waves a hand. “Blah, blah, some stupid angst bullshit about dragging people into danger by his mere presence or some nonsense.”

“Meira!” Becky greets over Sam’s indignant protest, grinning and opening her arms. Meira steps forward for a hug, and then Becky surprises her a little by swooping in for an enthusiastic kiss. Not that she’s complaining in the least. Dean clears his throat after a couple of seconds, and Meira flips him off without looking.

“God, Becks, stop molesting people on the doorstep.”

That voice convinces Becky to break the kiss and step back, and Meira looks over her shoulder to see Zach coming up behind her, looking exasperated. Meira recognises him from the security footage of the shapeshifter wearing his face. “It’s my birthday, I can molest people anywhere I want.” Becky retorts.

Zach rolls his eyes. “It’s not your birthday _yet_. Hey, Sam.” He greets, then holds a hand out to Meira, and then Dean. “And, you know, thanks. For what you did.”

“Uh…” Sam says, uncertainly.

“I told him everything.” Becky informs him. “You didn’t think I was going to keep it a secret from him, did you?” She asks archly.

“And you believed it, just like that?” Dean asks, eyebrows raised.

Zach shrugs. “It was the only thing that really explained everything.” He says, then starts smirking. “Including all those homebrew monsters you used to throw at us on D’n’D night.” He adds, and Sam actually blushes, cringing. “I think I even remember the one with the… what did you call it, a skinwalker? That could only be killed by a silver sword.”

“D’n’D?” Dean asks, somewhere between mocking and delighted.

“Shut up.” Sam huffs.

“What, hunting in _real life_ ain’t good enough for you, but playing pretend on a Thursday night is how you get your rocks off?” Dean goes on, grinning into Sam’s bitch-face.

“Jess liked it.” Sam snaps, which effectively puts a damper on the mood.

“She did.” Zach agrees fondly after an awful moment of silence, then a realisation seems to dawn on him. “Wait, did she know…?” He gestures vaguely.

“No.” Sam says shortly. “She didn’t.”

“Oh.” Zach says, and then his eyes widen. “Oh. Is that… was the fire not… just an accident?”

Sam sighs, a little shakily, and Becky jumps in to save him. “Come on, let’s not have this conversation on the doorstep.” She instructs, beckoning everyone inside. “Anyone want a drink? Coffee? Beer?” She offers. “Holy water?”

Laughing, Meira follows her into the living room and settles in to listen as Sam haltingly explains what happened to Jess and the entire rest of the mess, with Dean picking up the slack when Sam loses his words or gets too choked up about Jess. The topic of conversation shifts naturally, from the demon to other supernatural monsters, to what Sam’s been up to, to Becky’s plans to head back to Stanford in the fall, and before they know it, it’s evening, and Becky and Zach’s parents arrive home, and dinner is being made.

Having an actual home-cooked sit-down dinner is amazing after months of mostly diner food or take-out, and it even manages to take the edge off some of Dean’s awkward. They talk about the party that’s planned for the next day, and somehow that gets them onto music, and it turns out Dean and Zach have similar tastes in music, so the conversation gets dominated by that for a while.

After dinner, Becky’s mom, Deborah, shows them to the guest room. “But Rebecca didn’t tell us there’d be three of you.” She frets. “So we haven’t got the air-bed out-”

“It’s fine, Mom, Meira’s sleeping in my room.” Becky tells her.

“We’ll still need to get the air-bed down from the attic for her.” Deborah chides.

“No, Mom, we don’t.” Becky assures her.

There’s a slightly awkward pause.

“Oh!” Deborah says. “You didn’t tell us you had a girlfriend!”

“It’s not a big thing.” Becky deflects, while Meira tries not to wince. Sam and Dean are both laughing at her, the assholes. It takes far too long to escape from Deborah’s clutches, and Meira won’t deny that she closes Becky’s door behind her with a huge sigh of relief. “Sorry about that.” Becky says, but she doesn’t really sound that apologetic.

Meira wrinkles her nose at her, making Becky laugh, and then Meira… resigns herself to having this conversation. She clears her throat. “Just making sure we’re on the same page here…” She begins cautiously.

“I know you’re not really my girlfriend.” Becky assures her.

Meira relaxes, slumping back against the door. “Because I don’t really _do_ exclusivity so much.” She admits more easily. “And it never ends well when people expect it from me.”

At that, Becky smiles. “I can roll with that, and I’ll let you know if I can’t, anymore.”

Meira beams. “That’s perfect.”

“So, wanna have sex now?” Becky asks, blunt and just a little bit teasing.

Meira laughs in delight. “Absolutely.”

* * *

**St Louis, Missouri – Sunday 25 th  June 2006 **

When Meira ambles downstairs for breakfast at about midday, she finds Sam sat at the kitchen table, a bunch of newspapers and John’s journal spread out around him and red pen in hand. “Looking for a hunt?” She asks, angling for the fridge and hoping there are enough eggs for her to make something for everyone, whether it’s lunch or breakfast for them.

“Mhm.” Sam hums. “I figure we ought to be heading out soon, if you and Dean can tear yourselves away from your partners.”

Meira considers that as she counts out the eggs and starts cracking them into a bowl. “Does that mean Dean’s in Zach’s room?” She asks innocently.

Sam chokes on a laugh. “Neither of them are into guys.” He tells her. Meira concentrates very intently on the eggs to avoid snorting her derision of that statement. Zach she doesn’t know about, but her dad is definitely into guys, no matter what he wants Sam to think. “No, Dean went off with one of Becky’s friends last night. Dunno when he’ll be back, but it should be soon.”

“I’ll make enough for him, too, then.” Meira decides, and then asks; “Hey, aren’t you worried Deborah or Jean will come in and see you circling obituaries in red ink?” She wonders.

“I’ll tell them it’s for college.” Sam dismisses. “Creative writing assignment.” Meira grins as she digs out a whisk and starts mixing. Sam being relaxed enough to talk about the supernatural, to work in the open at the kitchen table makes her feel inordinately smug. “You can stop grinning now.” Sam huffs, and Meira snickers, grin still firmly in place.

“Isn’t it nice to have friends who know the truth and accept you in all your weird monster-hunting glory?” She asks him, sweet and arch, and she can just _feel_ the glower being levelled at her back.

“Okay, yes.” Sam capitulates. “Yeah, it’s… I’m not glad that Becca had to go through what she did, but I am glad she knows.”

Meira’s grin softens then, and she can’t help but think of the future, where her uncle had all of one meaningful relationship outside of the family, and that was with a co-worker. Maybe now, if he can avoid being a self-sacrificial moron, he might be able to hold onto a few more. “I won’t say I told you so, I’ll just ask if you’ve found anything worth looking into.” She decides, searching for the biggest frying pan she can find.

Sam snorts. “How magnanimous of you.” He mocks. “And yeah, I think so. It’s a bit of a drive, but there’s this couple in New Paltz, New York that had their throats slit in their home, doors and windows all locked, no evidence.”

“God, is this what your life is like, now?” Becky asks, joining them in the kitchen. “Start the day with conversations about gruesome murders?”

Sam huffs. “Pretty much. Supernatural murders are either gruesome or just get listed as disappearances.” He points out. “Unless someone calls us for help, the only way to find jobs is to go looking.”

“So, why that one?” Becky asks, and when Meira glances over her shoulder, she sees her seated next to Sam and leaning over to read whatever article Sam’s been referencing. Still smiling irrepressibly, Meira goes back to her cooking.

“Well, best bet for an intruder that got through an alarm system and locked doors and windows is an intruder that’s incorporeal.” Sam points out. “But mainly because Dad- This is his journal. Here, look. He made a note of a series of murders just like this one. The only reason no one else has noticed the pattern is because they’re so far apart.” Meira tips her head at that, curious, because the pieces are starting to sound kind of familiar to her. A pattern of slit throats in New York going back almost a hundred years? She definitely remembers one of her dad’s stories starting that way.

“1912,” Becky reads out, “1945, and 1970. Wow, no kidding. No normal person could be responsible for all of those.”

“Right.” Sam agrees. “But ghosts aren’t exactly in danger of dying.”

Becky snickers. “And what about other things? Are there any others that are immortal?”

“Most of them live a lot longer than humans do.”

“Not most shapeshifters.” Meira corrects. “Werewolves, kitsune, arachnes, lycanthropes, skinwalkers, and shapeshifters all have normal human lifespans.”

“I thought lycanthropes and werewolves were the same thing?” Sam asks.

Meira makes a non-committal noise. “They’re related, but they’re not the same. Lycanthropes have a wolf-like form that they can shift into at will, and although they can get stuck that way for the night before, the night of and the night after the full moon, they never lose their minds and if they have really good control they can avoid the forced shift. If a lycanthrope has a baby, chances are it’ll be another lycanthrope, and that’s how they usually reproduce, but… Their bite is also infectious, and the people they _bite_ become werewolves. Werewolves have a _bestial_ form that doesn’t actually look all that much like a wolf at all, and the moon forces them into it, driving them into a frenzy. Most don’t even remember the nights of the full moon or what they did, although with a strong will and a _lot_ of practice, some werewolves can recall memories, although I’ve never known one actually exert conscious control over themselves during the full moon.” She pauses, then shrugs. “And if a werewolf has a baby, the baby is going to be human. Unless the other parent is something else, which, obviously, would skew the odds.”

“Huh.” Sam says. “Good to know.”

Dean gets back just as Meira is dishing out the cheesy scrambled eggs, and by that point, Zach has already joined them. They get into a lively conversation about the many and various supernatural creatures when Becky suggests making their very own Monster Manual. The conversation almost falters when Deborah and Jean join them, but Meira saves it by explaining they’re discussing Dungeons and Dragons. The two of them make indulgent, baffled noises, and the discussion continues, even though Sam and Dean are perhaps a little more reticent.

“We should probably get going.” Sam says, once they’re done eating. “We’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of us.” He tells Deborah and Jean.

“We do?” Dean asks. Sam gives him a deeply unimpressed look. “Right.” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “Guess I’d better get packed, then, huh?” He asks rhetorically, and heads upstairs. Meira does the same, and before long, they’ve loaded the car and are saying goodbye.

“It was wonderful to meet you.” Jean assures Meira. “Know that you’re welcome here, at any time.”

“Thank you.” Meira replies, then goes to kiss Becky goodbye. “See you soon.”

“Yeah, definitely.” Becky agrees. “Even if me and Zach have to hop in a car and chase you down.” That last is definitely meant for Sam, currently exchanging a back-slapping bro-hug with Zach. He winces and offers Becky a hug as both an apology and a farewell. It’s only a few more minutes before they’re in the Impala and driving away.

“So, where are we going now?” Dean asks as they hit an intersection.

“New York state.” Sam tells him, so Dean turns east while Sam explains the job he’s found all over again.

* * *

**New Paltz, New York – Monday 26 th  June 2006 **

“No.” Dean says firmly.

Meira rolls her eyes. “Dean, we’re going to get kicked out if we turn up to this thing dressed like homeless rednecks.” She informs him. “Can’t do the job if we get kicked out.”

“Can if we do it fast enough.” Dean grumbles.

“Put on the damned suit.” Meira insists, shoving the thing into his chest so that he’s forced to grab it. Dean glowers at it, then at her, then storms into the ridiculously disco-styled motel room’s bathroom.

Sam, currently knotting his tie, chuckles. “What about you?” He asks her. When Meira just raises an eyebrow and goes to dig out her own suit, he shrugs. “Fair enough. It’s just… that works in a professional setting, but don’t most ladies at things like this wear dresses?”

Meira shrugs. “It’s not a formal dinner or anything, so not necessarily. It’s just that hunter chic will _definitely_ stand out.”

“Hunter chic?” Sam echoes, amused.

“Flannel, plaid, cargo jackets, leather, jeans, practical boots.” Meira lists off, digging out her own pair of prettier boots with a kitten heel. She can still run in them, but they look nice under her pant suit. “Tell me it’s not a weird kind of informal uniform for us.” She challenges.

“You… have a point.” Sam acknowledges.

Dean eventually emerges from the bathroom looking resentful as hell, and they head off to the pre-auction viewing of the Telesca estate. “…it’s like a garage sale for WASPs.” Dean mutters, which Meira thinks is actually a remarkably accurate observation. It takes effort on her part not to beeline towards the painting, but Sam and Dean get there eventually.

Only to be distracted by an exceptionally pretty woman making quite an entrance down a spiral staircase. She and Sam banter a little, and then make introductions. “Blake?” Meira questions when Sarah introduces herself. “As in the owner of this auction house?”

Sarah laughs. “That would be my father, but I do work here.” She explains. “Nepotism at its finest.” The she shakes the not-quite-a-joke off and addresses her next question to Sam, maintaining the same level of subtly meaningful eye-contact that Meira had just been using on her. Meira lets out a wistful sigh. “Can I help you three with anything?”

“Yeah, actually.” Sam says, and goes on to wheedle the provenances of the entire estate out of Sarah. The pair of them end up standing rather close, heads bent together over a stack of paperwork.

“S’not fair.” Meira whines, watching them. “Why are so many pretty women straight?”

Dean snorts, and snags another mini quiche off a passing tray. “It’s totally fair. You _just_ got done screwing Becky’s brains out. You can’t hog _all_ the hot chicks.” He accuses through a full mouth.

Meira tips her head in acknowledgement. “And I suppose it _is_ Sam’s turn to watch the cute girl’s house.” She muses, and Dean snickers.

“And _you_ are?” Someone asks from behind them. Meira jumps and turns, hand flying to her pants pocket where she’s stowed an annoyingly small pocketknife, but it’s only a dignified old guy with a disapproving stare. She hates not being able to sense people coming up behind her.

Before she or Dean can muster an answer, her past her surprise, and him past another mouthful of hors d’oeuvres, Sarah calls over. “Oh, Dad. This is Dean, Meira, and Sam.” She introduces. “They’re art dealers.”

“Are they?” He asks disapprovingly. “They certainly don’t seem to be looking at the _art_.” He says pointedly, giving Meira and Dean a poisonous look. Oops. “And they’re also not on the guest list.”

“Are you sure?” Meira asks sweetly. “Why don’t you double check that?”

Mr Blake glowers at her, then turns away, presumably to go check. “Sarah?” He calls, glancing back. “A word?”

“I’m busy, Dad.” Sarah replies, giving him a bemused, if faintly annoyed look and gesturing to the paperwork she and Sam have been pouring over. “Can it wait?” Her dad rolls his eyes, nods, and goes. Once he’s disappeared into the crowd, Sarah asks. “So, _are_ you really on the guest list?” Meira turns to see her smirking, just a little. “Because I’m thinking not.”

Sam shrugs, and smirks back. “Guilty.” He acknowledges, and Sarah laughs softly. “We’re just starting up, so we’ve got to be a bit aggressive with our business practices.” He explains.

“Uh-huh.” Sarah agrees, definitely amused. “Well, you probably don’t want to still be here when my dad gets back from figuring that out, but, here.” She says, and digs a business card out of her purse to offer to Sam. “Maybe next time I can make sure you _are_ on the guest list.”

“Thanks.” Sam says, surprised, and takes it, before shuffling together to provenances and heading for the door, Dean and Meira following in his wake.

Once they’re back at the motel, they start going through the provenances, except for Dean, who seems more interested in teasing Sam about Sarah. “No, but I’m serious.” He says finally, when Sam’s shut down the more light-hearted jabs. “The interest is obviously mutual, dude, why don’t you ask her out to dinner or something?”

“Ha-ha.” Sam huffs. “Would you _stop_? We’ve got work to do.”

“Why’s that funny?” Dean challenges.

Sam throws down the papers he was going through to give Dean a deeply aggravated look. “Because, Dean, what’s the point? We might even be done with this job tonight, and then we’ll be leaving town again.”

“We can stay a couple extra days, it’s not like we’re pressed for time.” Dean replies, baffled. “And even if we _were_ , me and Meira can handle whatever this is by ourselves so you can have a good time tonight, if you know what I mean. If you’d stop being a wuss and call Sarah, that is.”

Sam snorts. “I think she’s a bit too classy to put out on the first date, Dean.” He deflects.

“Like I said, we can stay a while.” Dean offers again.

“It’s still the same story.” Sam replies. “We get the job done, we pack up, we leave. Then what?” He snorts again. “We resign ourselves to phone sex until-” Sam cuts himself off abruptly, and shakes his head, retrieving his papers and staring at them intently.

“That’s a bit more long-term than I was thinking. But yeah, we could swing by New Paltz-” He says the name with a ridiculously terribly hoity-toity accent that makes Meira snicker. “-every now and then so you could see your girlfriend, if you want.”

Sam actually laughs at that. “Because we’ve been back to Cape Girardeau how many times since we left?” He asks pointedly.

Dean looks away sharply. “Hey, we’re talking about you here. Don’t change the subject.”

“You haven’t even called her, have you?” Sam asks pointedly.

Dean sighs, shoving out of his chair to pace. “Okay, you have a point.”

“She’s doing fine, by the way.” Meira has to interject, keeping her eyes on her own set of papers. There’s startled silence from the rest of the room. “The new editor doesn’t like her as much, but that just means she’s been twice as driven to prove herself.” She goes on conversationally. “She’s angling for the crime beat. Her mom’s doing okay, too, still pretty shaken up and grieving, but she’s started volunteering with the local church to keep herself busy.”

“When did you call her?” Dean asks dumbly.

Meira looks up at him, then, amused. “I don’t know why you’re surprised.” She points out. “I’m the only one here who keeps in touch with _anyone_ , seems like. And it was while we were at Becky’s. Since we were only a couple of hours away, I called to see if she’d like us to pop in and say hi.” She smiles a little wryly. “She asked if it was my idea, and when I said it was, she said she was going to need more time to get over you, so best not.”

Dean winces and slumps back down into his seat. “I didn’t even think about…” He admits, waving a hand in a way that Meira supposes is meant to indicate the relative nearness of Cassie to St Louis.

“And you were finally getting over her.” Meira adds, which catches Sam’s attention. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your lack of hook-ups the last couple months.” She says, mostly for Sam’s benefit. She can see the realisation dawning in his eyes as he looks over at Dean. “Until Becky’s birthday, anyway.”

Dean manages a half-hearted grin. “Becky’s friend Vicky was super hot.”

Meira nods an agreement, then slides a look towards Sam. “I’m with Dean on the Sarah issue, though, just FYI.” She adds, and Sam shoots her a betrayed look. “I mean, maybe you can’t have a relationship, I know most people aren’t like me but, you can still make a friend, if nothing else.”

Sam shakes his head and chuckles. “What do you mean, like you? Plenty of people do the casual sex thing, you’re not that special.”

“Not a lot of people do the open relationship thing, though.” Meira counters. “Becky does, and Andrea’s clearly willing to give it a try, although I don’t think she’s really thought about it very hard, so I’m not going to be surprised if next time we drop by, I don’t get any more kisses. Sad, but not surprised.” Meira pulls an exaggerated pout.

“Fair enough.” Sam acknowledges. “You’re right that I don’t think I could do that.”

“You don’t think you could have a normal relationship, either.” Dean points out.

Sam gives him a bitter smile. “Tried that.”

That shuts Dean up. With a sigh, he goes back to researching. Meira considers dropping the subject, because, well, it’s not like she wants to push Sam towards someone who _isn’t_ Aunt Mia, she loves Aunt Mia, but at the same time, she doesn’t like watching her uncle closing himself off. It’s what Azazel wants, after all, wants him isolated and sharp, and it’s Meira’s opinion that assholes like that shouldn’t get what they want. “‘Ever tried. Ever failed.” She quotes into the silence, raising her eyebrows at Sam, who frown right back. “No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.’”

Sam gives her a hard look. “‘Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.’” He quotes right back at her.

“So don’t do the same thing.” Meira counters. “Try something a little bit different.”

“Like what?” Sam asks, sounding tired.

Meira shrugs, looking down at the papers in her hands. “I don’t know, I don’t know what your relationship with Jess was like.” She points out. “What do you think you could do differently?” She asks, rhetorically, and the room falls into silence.

The work grows tedious, because Meira can’t just flip through the papers until she finds the right one, she has to make at least the appearance of checking everything, but then, finally, she finds it. She skims it over for the key information, and once she’s found it, says “Hey, Sam, can I see John’s journal a sec?”

“You’ve found something?” Sam asks, already unearthing the journal and handing it over.

Meira flips to the right page, and then compares the list of dead people with the list of owners of the Merchant family portrait. “Tah-dah.” She says, slapping them both down on the table with an air of smugness she’s pulled up to hide her relief.

“Portrait of Isaiah Merchant’s family, painted 1910.” Dean reads out. “First purchased in 1912, by Peter Simms…” He glances across at the journal. “Peter Simms murdered in 1912. Same thing in 1945. And same thing in 1970.”

“What happened after that?” Sam asks.

“Dumped in storage.” Meira replies. “Then it got donated to a charity auction last month.”

“Where the Telescas bought it.” Sam concludes, nodding. “So, what do you think? Haunted? Cursed?” He suggests.

“Throat-slashing seems a little weird for a curse.” Meira muses. “It’s a very… human method of execution, after all. I’d put my money on a haunting. Which means more research.” She groans theatrically.

“Why?” Dean asks. “We can just torch the painting, job done, right?”

Meira shakes her head. “I mean, it could be that a ghost latched on to the painting as a symbol of it’s identity, but… half the time, haunted paintings are haunted because the ghosts are _trapped_ in them. Sometimes it’s a spell, sometimes, they just… get _caught_ in the image of themselves, like Mary in the mirror. Destroy the painting…”

“And the ghost gets free.” Sam concludes, grimacing. “But with Mary, her remains being burned didn’t get rid of her _because_ she was trapped in the mirror. If we burn the remains of whoever this is, and then burn the painting only to find that they’re not gone, we’re going to be screwed.”

Meira shakes her head. “Mirror-bound ghosts and trapped spirits behave very differently. Mirrors are… a continuum.” She explains, grimacing, not sure of the best way to explain. “They’re distinct, but connected. It’s why witches can use crystal balls or still water to see things in other locations, because all reflections are connected. Mary’s spirit might’ve crawled out of the mirror after you smashed it, but she was still… a reflection given life. A ghost trapped in a portrait couldn’t do that.”

“Alright.” Dean says. “The ghost haunting a painting is usually the subject, right?”

“Hard to get trapped in your own likeness if it’s not your likeness.” Meira agrees.

“Right, so we need to figure out what’s up with this creepy-ass Merchant family.”

“And we need to make sure they don’t sell that painting to someone else in the meantime.” Meira adds, looking at Sam with a bright smile. Sam glowers, and Dean snickers. “It _is_ your turn to watch the cute girl’s house, after all.” Meira adds.

“ _Fine_.” Sam huffs, pulling out his phone.

He ends up with a dinner date, while Meira and Dean head out to a local library to see what they can discover about the family. A helpful local history enthusiast shows them a bunch of newspaper articles, paperwork, and history books that reference the Merchant family, and Meira dutifully points out that the image of the painting in the book looks different to the painting as it is. They borrow the book, and once they’re back in the car, Dean calls Sam.

“Dean, _what_?” Sam asks, sounding very annoyed.

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” Dean asks, grinning.

“You know, it’s considered rude to answer your phone when you’re on a date. I could’ve- I _should have_ just ignored you.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll let you get back to your date in just a second.” Dean huffs, laughing. “Cliff notes version; Merchent family was cremated, but Meira noticed something weird about the painting, so she wants to have another look at it before we torch the sucker. Think your girlfriend could arrange that for us?” He asks.

“I’ll ask.” Sam says. “And let you know what she says when I get back.”

“No rush.” Dean assures him. “It can wait until morning.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Bitch.” Dean retorts, then hangs up. “Still think we should just burn it and be done.” He adds to Meira, before starting the car. Meira rolls her eyes and doesn’t bother to make her arguments again.

* * *

**New Paltz, New York – Tuesday 27 th  June 2006 **

Sam managed to convince Sarah to let them have a look at the painting the very next day, and Dean teases him mercilessly about what ‘favours’ he might’ve traded for such special treatment. Sam endures it with relative stoicism, even if there is a muscle twitching in his jaw by the time they arrive at the auction house. Sarah comes out to meet them almost before Dean has the engine turned off, and there’s a hint of a grimace on her face.

“Sarah?” Sam asks warily. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry, Sam.” She opens with, spreading her hands in a gesture of helpless apology. “My father’s already sold the painting. I would have called you, saved you the trip, but I only just found out myself.” She explains, rolling her eyes.

“He sold it?” Sam echoes, eyes wide with alarm that Sarah misreads as despair.

“I asked him not to.” Sarah assures him. “But he said since you hadn’t actually made an offer yet, he couldn’t hold on to it when Evelyn was offering to pay _significantly_ above market price for it.”

“Evelyn?” Meira questions.

Sarah glances at her and nods. “She’s a family friend.”

“We’re going to need her address.” Sam says, an edge to his tone that finally catches Sarah’s attention. Sam doesn’t notice the sharp look she shoots him, though, because he’s busy checking his watch, and then glancing up at the sun. Once upon a time, Meira would have been able to tell him, down to the second, how long it would be until the sun disappeared behind the horizon, but now, all she can tell without looking at a clock herself is that it’s sometime in the afternoon. She’s getting far too good at pushing aside the bitter ache of loss.

“Why?” Sarah asks sharply.

Sam blinks and looks up at her, then pastes on a rueful smile. “Well, we would really like another look at it, and maybe-”

“Don’t lie to me.” Sarah interrupts. “You’re worried about something. Why?”

“You know who that portrait is of?” Meira asks her, and Sam hisses her name reprovingly

Sarah looks to Meira with a frown, and nods. “The Merchant family. Isaiah and his wife and their three kids.” She reports.

“You know what happened to the Merchants?” Meira prompts, and Sarah frowns, shaking her head slowly. “They were murdered. Throats slit.” Sarah’s eyes go wide. “Just like what happened to the Telescas. Just like what happened to the last owners, and the ones before that, and the ones before that. You can do the research yourself, if you don’t believe me, but do you really want to risk the same thing happening to Evelyn, too?”

Sarah stares at her for a long moment. “Let me get my coat.” She says.

“Sarah, no-” Sam begins, but Sarah’s already vanished back inside the auction house.

“Why did you tell her?” Sam asks Meira, exasperated.

Meira raises her eyebrows at him. “Are you really surprised?” She demands, and when Sam looks away, capitulating with annoyance, she huffs at him. “Maybe this can be your something different.” She suggests, and Sam turns back to stare at her, startled.

Then Sarah returns, and she joins Meira in the back seat, giving Dean directions. Once they’re on the highway, she leans back. “Okay, explain to me what the hell is going on. You really think Evelyn’s in danger?” She asks, looking between them all.

“Journal?” Meira requests, and Sam rolls his eyes but hands it over. Meira opens it to the relevant page, which is easy, since it now has the paintings provenance tucked in between the pages, then shows it to Sarah, who scans them both with a frown.

“Okay, I _am_ going to look these names up, later.” She promises. “But that still doesn’t explain _how_ -” She gestures at the list of deaths wordlessly.

Meira pulls out the book she borrowed from the library and flips to the page with the picture of the painting on it, and slides that on top of the journal in Sarah’s lap. “Notice anything odd?” She asks mildly. Sarah begins to shake her head, and then stops.

“This isn’t right.” She says. “The man is looking at the daughter in the actual painting.” She pauses, and looks up. “You… think it’s a fake?” She asks, doubtfully.

“We think it moved.” Sam corrects, clearly surrendering.

Sarah huffs a laugh. “That’s impossible.”

“It’s actually fairly common in haunted paintings.” Sam corrects.

“Haunted paintings.” Sarah repeats. “You think the painting is _haunted_.”

“How else do you explain the owners all dying the exact same way as the family in the painting over almost a hundred years?” Dean challenges.

Sarah mouths helplessly for a moment, then throws her hands in the air. “God, the guys I go out with.” She mutters in despair.

Meira laughs. “Okay, you’re going to have to tell us that story. What other sorts of guys have you dated?” Sarah shakes her head wordlessly, still looking too overwhelmed, so Meira lets the subject go, lets her absorb the notion in peace.

When they reach Evelyn’s house, Sam and Dean start to get out, but Sarah stops them. “No, let me talk to her.” She says, making the brother’s pause.

“It could be dangerous.” Sam warns her.

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that.” Sarah agrees, but it doesn’t stop her from getting out of the car. “But I’m not going to run and hide while my friend is in danger.” She insists, leaning down to speak through Dean’s open window. “Besides, I know how to get her to give me the painting, and having you two there isn’t going to help.” She adds smugly, and then goes up to the front door and rings the bell.

“Sam?” Dean says, still watching Sarah as she disappears into the house. “Marry that girl.”

Sam shoots an unimpressed glower Dean’s way, but Meira is _almost_ on Dean’s side. “If you’re not gonna, can I?” She asks wistfully.

“I’m pretty sure she’s straight.” Sam reminds her, in a tone that suggests he’s given up on the pair of them, and is just playing along for the sake of a little peace.

“I’m sure we can come to some arrangement that suits us both.” Meira says, overly-earnest.

A few minutes later, Sarah re-emerges from the house, carrying the painting. She pauses on the porch to speak to Evelyn briefly, and then returns to the car, sliding the painting into the back with Meira’s help before squishing in next to her. “Wow.” Dean says, as he turns the Impala around and prepares to drive back to New Paltz. “How’d you get her to just give it to you?”

“I told her I thought it might be a forgery, and that Dad had sold it to her anyway because she’d offered so much for it, but if she let me take it back, I could bully him into giving her a refund until we’d had it checked properly.” Sarah explains easily. Sam makes an impressed noise, and Sarah smirks.

They go back to the motel room and set the painting up against the wall, where Meira can sit in front of it, cross-legged on the floor, to play spot the difference with the version in the book, while Sam shows Sarah the various old news reports that documented the series of deaths that followed the painting around like a bad smell. Dean leaves them to it and comes to crouch over Meira’s shoulder. “The straight-razor.” He points out.

“Mhm.” Meira agrees. “Makes sense, if the razor is being used by the ghost, that the painting would change to reflect that. What I want to know is _why_ Isaiah’s looking at the little girl.” She adds pointedly. “Why would the ghost change _that_ , even without meaning to?”

Dean makes a noise that clearly translates to ‘I dunno’ even without words. “Maybe he particularly hated her?” He suggests.

Meira hums, pretending to think. “Didn’t the guy at the library say the daughter was adopted?” She asks slowly.

“Yeah.” Dean confirms. “Why?”

“Do we know anything about her birth family?” Meira wonders, and then she swears, jerking backwards into Dean, when Isaiah turns his head to look directly at her. Dean yelps and falls on his ass, and then Sam and Sarah are there, demanding to know what happened and if everyone’s okay.

“Fine!” Meira assures them. “It just-”

“It’s looking at you.” Sarah says, sounding unnerved. “I _know_ he was looking at the girl when we brought it in here. God, is it about to kill us, or something?” She asks.

“I don’t think so.” Meira says.

“It seems to do its thing at night. Ghosts generally are more active at night.” Sam assures her.

“Sam?” Meira asks. “Can you look into the daughter’s birth family? Because the painting didn’t move until I brought that up.” She tells him. Sam mutters ‘on it’ and goes to look into it. Sarah stays with Meira and Dean though.

“What about that painting, in the painting?” She asks after a moment, pointing without touching. “In the picture, it’s a mountain landscape, in the painting, it’s some sort of mausoleum. I think there’s something written on it, but I can’t make it out…” Dean bounces up and heads over to Sam’s duffel, which earns him a distracted ‘hey’ from Sam, and comes back with a small magnifying glass, which he hands to Sarah. “Oh, thanks.” She says, and then peers at the painting. “Merchant.” She reads out. “A family mausoleum?” She wonders.

“Huh.” Dean says significantly, exchanging a look with Meira.

Sam wanders back over to them a moment later. “So, it looks like maybe it isn’t Isaiah we have to worry about after all.” He tells them. “I called the library, and the guy who helped us before looked it up for me. Apparently, Melanie Merchant was born Melanie Riesman, and she was orphaned when the rest of her family, parents and one older sister, were murdered in their beds. Suffocated, instead of having their throats slit, but I suppose she didn’t have a straight razor handy that time.” Sam muses darkly.

“And of course, no one suspected the sweet little girl.” Dean mutters.

“That’s horrible.” Sarah breaths. “Why would she do that?”

“Pain.” Meira answers tiredly. “That’s always at the root of the worst atrocities. People in pain, lashing out blindly.”

“Or some people are just born twisted.” Dean suggests.

“Maybe some people’s bodies don’t function the way they’re supposed to, but I refuse to believe any soul comes into this world already broken. People still have to _choose_ to do evil.” Meira counters. Dean tips his head in acknowledgement.

“We still have to figure out how to deal with this.” Sam points out, gesturing at the painting.

“Torch it?” Dean says, as though that ought to be obvious.

“Shouldn’t we check out that mausoleum, first?” Sarah suggests. “I mean, it has to be there for a reason, right? Isaiah already gave us one clue that we needed, so what’s in that mausoleum that we ought to know about?” She asks.

“Alright, but… we might have to do that tomorrow.” Dean points out, glancing out the window, where dusk is already starting to fall. “It’s getting pretty late.”

“Tomorrow.” Sarah repeats, giving the painting a wary look. “As in, you want to leave this thing over night? I’ve changed my mind, let’s burn it now.” She decides.

Sam snorts. “We can put it back in the warehouse and make a salt circle around it.” He suggests. “That way, no one will be about, and even if Melanie tries to go walk about, she won’t be able to get past the salt line.”

They do just that, and then Sarah says good night, looking at Sam alone, and hesitates before heading for her car. Sam watches her go, expression conflicted. Meira elbows him. “What are you waiting for, doofus? Go with her, make sure she stays safe!”

Sam swallows, then nods and jogs after Sarah before she can drive off. They converse for a moment, then Sam goes around to get into the passenger seat, waving over his shoulder to them to let them know they don’t have to wait for him. “That kid, I swear.” Dean huffs as they get back into the Impala. Meira leans back in the passenger seat, smiling to herself.

* * *

**New Paltz – Wednesday 28 th  June 2006 **

The next day is very anticlimactic. Aside from Dean teasing Sam about spending the night with Sarah, which makes both of them blush, there’s barely any drama at all. They find the mausoleum eventually, find the graves inside, and the doll sitting next to Melanie’s urn.

“Okay, that right there is the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Sarah announces.

“It was, uh… sort of a tradition at the time.” Sam explains. “Whenever a child died, sometimes they'd preserve the kid’s favourite toy in a glass case, put it next to the headstone or crypt.”

Meira tips her head, and pretends the thought is only just occurring to her. “You know what else was a tradition at the time?” She asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “Using real human hair to make dolls more realistic.”

Sam and Dean exchange a look. “Human remains.” They say together.

Meira uses her greater-than-normal strength to smash the glass, and they salt and burn the doll. When they head back to the auction house, the painting is back to looking like it should. Sarah gets into a bit of an argument with her father about the painting, but Meira’s just happy to stand back and watch, over-dramatically fanning herself as Sarah puts her foot down and refuses to be swayed.

Once her father’s thrown both hands in the air and walked off in resigned disbelief, Sarah turns to them with a wry, slightly self-conscious smile. “Sorry you guys had to watch that.”

“Sorry?” Meira echoes incredulously. “You’re a badass.” Sarah ducks her head, looking sheepishly proud of herself, and glances at Sam, who smiles sappily at her. “You’d make a pretty badass hunter, too.” Meira adds.

Sarah startles, like she’d managed to forget Meira was there in the five seconds she was staring into Sam’s eyes. “You think?” She asks uncertainly.

“Definitely.” Meira agrees.

Sam sighs heavily. “Don’t let her bully you into anything.” He warns Sarah. “She’s trying to build an army. I mean, I’m not saying you couldn’t, but it’s a dangerous job. These things kill people.”

“No, really?” Sarah asks, tone heavy with irony, and Sam laughs, accepting that he kind of deserved that one. “I don’t know, I kind of think it might be a good idea.” She muses, tucking her hands into her pockets shyly. “I mean, the auction business isn’t exactly a _calling_ , and… I could maybe, I don’t know, make a difference, with something like… like _hunting_.” She puts an adorable amount of stress on the word.

“I’m sure we could stick around a few days.” Dean offers. “Teach you the basics.”

Everyone looks to Sam, who sighs, rolling his eyes heavenward, even though he can’t force the smile tugging at his lips away. He shrugs fatalistically, looking back to Sarah with the smile turning into a grin. “Why the hell not?”


	8. Iron in our Veins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from a Nikita Gill poem: "We have calcium in our bones, iron in our veins, carbon in our souls, and nitrogen in our brains. 93 percent stardust, with souls made of flames, we are all just stars that have people names.")

**Bridgeport, Nebraska – Thursday 27 th  July 2006 **

The diner they picked for breakfast is a cosy little place, and Meira lingers by the counter, flirting with the owner, while Sam and Dean search for another case. Then their breakfast is served, and Meira carries it back to the table with one last wink to the owner. As she gets back, she hears Dean saying “-drop by and see Sarah again, huh? It’s been almost a month, man.”

“I dunno, maybe someday.” Sam sighs, deflecting.

Meira rolls her eyes and throws herself down into her own seat. “We could at least keep heading that way.” She points out. “Or we’re only a day away from Layla. We could stop in, see how she’s doing.” She adds mildly.

Dean goes still in the process of lifting a forkful of pancakes to his mouth, and Sam’s head comes up from his laptop. “You heard from her lately?” He asks, in a painfully bland tone of voice.

“Not lately.” Meira admits. “If there’s a reason for that, she might appreciate a visit.” She adds, even though she knows full well that Layla isn’t dying anymore.

“Or she might not.” Dean retorts bitterly. “It’s not like we did anything to help her.”

“You don’t need to be able to help to be welcome.” Meira retorts, rolling her eyes. “But, fine. Ford City is out, what about Missouri? She’d definitely appreciate a visit.”

Sam huffs a laugh. “She’d probably kick our asses if we didn’t, huh?”

“So, if we don’t find a job, we’ll head for Lawrence?” Dean asks, not exactly enthused, but at least less resistant than he was to the idea of visiting Layla. Meira’s about to voice her agreement when her phone rings. A glance at the caller ID shows that it’s Haley. “Anyone we know?” Dean asks her.

“It’s Haley.” Meira tells him, then answers the call. “Haley?”

“Hey, Meira.” Haley greets, and there’s an edge to her voice that makes Meira frown.

“Everything okay?”

Sam and Dean both straighten a little at that, but Meira ignores them for the time being, all of her attention on the phone call. “I’m fine.” Haley assures her quickly. “Tommy and Ben, too. It’s just… I’ve been keeping an eye out for… weird deaths and disappearances, that sort of thing, you know?”

“I know.” Meira assures her.

“Of course you do.” Haley agrees, laughing at herself. “I think I found something, and I think it’s… maybe a little bit out of my league.”

“What you got?” Meira asks, then lowers the phone and mouths ‘job’ to Sam and Dean. Their eyebrows go up in unison, but they both obligingly start shovelling their breakfast down in preparation to fly off back to Lost Creek.

“This guy in Manning was mauled to death in his home. They put it down to a bear attack at first, but…” Haley snorts. “I thought I was just being paranoid, you know, because what are the odds of _another_ wendigo running around out here, right? But I had to check, just in case.” Meira hums in understanding, and Haley goes on. “Manning’s only a couple hours away from us, so I went to check it out, and… Well, I don’t think it’s a wendigo anymore, but… Grizzlies don’t smash skylights or open safes.”

“No shit.” Meira confirms, then turns her attention to Dean. “How far to Manning?”

Dean shrugs. “Well, it’s about… six or seven hours to Lost Creek from here.”

“We’ll be there by this afternoon.” Meira assures Haley. They say brief farewells, and then Meira falls on her own breakfast, answering Sam and Dean’s questions about the job in between bites. Sam goes back to his laptop, and makes a triumphant sound a minute or two later.

“Found the article. Daniel Elkins of Manning, Colorado, mauled to death, and then robbed.” He concludes grimly. Meira goes still, because she knows that name. Not well, just in passing, but how many times did she demand the apocalypse story from her dad as a kid, and chapter two, as Pabbi jokingly called it, always started with the death of Daniel Elkins, vampire hunter and owner of one very special gun.

“Elkins, I know that name.” Dean mutters.

“He’s a hunter.” Meira tells him, not feeling all that hungry anymore.

Dean snaps his fingers and dives for his dad’s journal, flipping through it until he finds the page where D. Elkins’ number has been jotted down. “You think it’s the same Elkins?” Sam asks.

“No such thing as coincidences, right?” Dean asks, with a glance towards Meira that becomes a double-take when he notices she’s not eating anymore. “You done?” He checks, and when she nods, he gets up. “Let’s hit the road then.”

They pay for their breakfast and head for the Impala, and while Sam and Dean discuss the job, Meira can’t help but fret silently in the back seat. She wonders if she should just sit back and leave well enough alone, but… she’s pretty sure her dad wasn’t still in touch with Haley, that Haley hadn’t even been involved. That’s Meira’s fault, so she _at least_ has to make sure Haley survives. And if she’s doing that much, then, well, it’s not going to be too much harder to try and keep everyone else safe, too. After all, Chapter Two of the Apocalypse Bedtime Story ends with John Winchester’s death.

Meira might not like the man very much, but her dad and her uncle both love him, and for that alone, she knows she’s going to have to try and save him. She’s saved a bunch of people here in the past that would have died otherwise, Roy Roberts and Will Carlton and Meg Masters and Layla Rourke. She can save one more.

* * *

**Manning, Colorado – Thursday 27 th  July 2006 **

Once they reach Manning, Meira texts Haley and gets the address of a bar in response. They find Haley sitting at the bar, nursing a drink as she waits for them. “Haley.” Meira greets, and Haley startles, turns, and then stands, offering a smile and a hug that Meira returns.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Haley says, eyes flicking over to Sam and Dean to include them in the sentiment.

“Happy to help.” Dean assures her with a winning grin. Haley laughs, and offers him a hug as well. “What are we doing here? I mean, specifically _here_ , in this bar.” He clarifies once Haley’s let him go.

Haley sits back down and waves for them to do the same. “This was the last place Elkins was seen alive.” She explains, waving down the bartender. She’s pretty, and Meira makes sure her smile of greeting is more flirtatious than friendly. “Beth was just telling me about the last time he was in here.”

“I think something spooked him.” The bartender jumps in immediately.

“Why’s that?” Dean asks.

Beth shrugs. “I don’t know, it was just weird. He’s in here every day with a bunch of papers, making notes in his little journal.” She sounds fond, if bemused, and Sam and Dean trade significant looks. “Every day, right up until closing. But that last day, I’d just poured him another drink, and then a whole group came in, so I went to deal with them. I had my back turned for a minute or two, but when I looked back to see if he needed anything else, he was just _gone_. Left half his glass and everything.”

“Thanks, Beth.” Haley says, and the bartender nods, and goes back to serving drinks, while Haley downs the last of hers. “So, what now?”

“Did you look at the scene?” Dean asks her, and she nods. “The body?” She nods again.

“He was definitely mauled.” Haley says grimly. “Bite marks, though, not claw marks. And his house was trashed, like there’d been one hell of a fight. I can kind of forgive the police for thinking there’d been a grizzly crashing about in there. Overturned furniture, broken windows, the works.” She pauses, and then adds, significantly. “And there was salt on the floor by the door.”

“You think this might’ve been demons?” Sam asks.

“Demons that _bite_ their victims to death?” Dean retorts, and Sam grimaces. “The bite marks on Elkins, did they look… human, or wolf-like, or…?”

“The ME said that if he didn’t know better, he’d say they were giant piranha bites.”

“Piranha bites?” Sam echoes incredulously.

“Vampires.” Meira sighs. Not that she needed that information to know what had killed Elkins, but it gave her the excuse she needed to _share_ said information. “Not that salt would have stopped them, but I bet the salt line was a permanent feature, rather than a new precaution.”

“Vampires have _piranha teeth_ now?” Dean demands, incredulous and amused.

Meira rolls her eyes. “No idea how he can be a sceptic, with the life he leads.” She says to Haley, who snorts. “They have a second set of teeth, retractable, and yeah, they leave marks a bit like a giant piranha.” She tells Dean, a little impatiently.

Dean holds his hands up defensively. “Alright, alright. Any idea what they stole? The paper mentioned signs of robbery.”

Haley shakes her head, grimacing. “There was an open safe, but no sign of what might’ve been in it that I could see.”

Dean considers that, then nods to himself. “I think I’d like to check the place out myself. No offence.” He adds to Haley. “But we might have a better idea what to look for.”

Haley waves that off. “None taken. That’s why I called you guys.”

Sam and Dean head for the door, but Meira hesitates. “One sec, guys. Hey, Beth?” She calls, and the bartender looks over. “That group you said came in just before Elkins left, what did they look like?” Meira asks, and Beth’s eyes widen at the implications.

“They, um… There were four of them, one girl, three guys. Uh, one of them was black, I think, one of the guys. They all had dark hair, and they were wearing leather. They looked a bit like bikers.” She says, clearly trying her best to remember. “Now that you mention it… they left pretty quickly, too. Just, drank some Jack like it was water and then left again.”

“Thanks, Beth.” Meira says with a smile, reaching out and putting a comforting hand on Beth’s arm. Then she follows Sam and Dean out. They pile into the Impala while Haley follows them in her own, more modern car. “So, how do you track down vampires?” Sam asks, turning in his seat to look back at Meira. “And how do you kill them?”

“Beheading, apparently.” Dean interjects before Meira can answer. When Sam looks at him in surprise, he shrugs. “Meira thought the freaks that kidnapped you that one time might’ve been vampires, she told me then.” He explains.

“Right.” Sam agrees, grimacing at the memory. “So, what about tracking? You think that group Beth mentioned were vampires, right? That’s why you asked about them.”

Meira nods. “Vampires are _hard_ to track, because they’re mostly just people. It’s only if they’re _sloppy_ that you find deaths like Elkins. Disappearances are usually a good way to track them, but… people disappear every day for mundane reasons, too, and vampires don’t need to feed that often. An average nest will take maybe three or four people a month, keep them alive for weeks, so they can keep feeding off them the whole time.”

There’s a pause, and Meira catches Sam giving her a confused look. “You sound _annoyed_.” He tells her, although it’s clearly meant as a question.

“A single vampire doesn’t need more than _maybe_ a cup of blood a day.” Meira tells him, aware that she’s definitely being grouchy, but, hell, if Benny could live a human-friendly life, so could any other vampire. “A single human can give that much a day, and as long as they eat a bit extra red meat or take iron supplements? They’d be _fine_. Symbiosis. Humans and vampires, living in _harmony_. But, no, instead they go around _abducting_ people and draining them dry, because vampires are still human enough to have problems with the concept of _renewable resources_.”

Sam is snickering into his sleeve, and has been since about half way through Meira’s little rant, and it’s not helping her sense of righteous indignation. “You’d seriously just let a bloodsucker chow down on you if they _asked nicely_?” Dean asks her, incredulous.

It hits Meira like a slap, the reminder that he isn’t her dad, isn’t yet the man whose best friend is a vampire and whose children are semi-angelic oddities. “Well, consent _is_ sexy.” She points out flippantly, and Dean snorts, but takes the deflection for what it is and drops the subject.

It’s already dark when they reach Elkin’s house, but that’s hardly going to stop them. Haley shadows them, watching curiously as Sam and Dean rifle through Elkins’ stuff, finding his hunter’s journal, and an empty box that looks like it was meant to hold a gun and bullets, and the address for a PO box scratched into the floor.

“I didn’t even notice that.” Haley admits as Dean takes a rubbing of the code and shows it to Sam.

“You just need more practice, sweetheart.” Dean tells her as he gets to his feet. “Look familiar?” He asks Sam.

“It’s a mail drop.” Sam states.

“Just the way Dad does it.” Dean agrees.

They leave again, going to find the right PO box, in which they find a letter addressed to a JW. For one, weird, brain twisting moment, Meira looks at it and thinks ‘Jace’ not ‘John’, before reality reasserts itself. They’re loitering by the cars, debating whether to open the letter or not, when a figure looms out of the darkness. Meira has her steel blade in hand before she recognises John, but once she does, she slumps with a sigh.

“Dad?!” Dean asks, shocked.

“Huh.” Haley says, relaxing as well. Although she hadn’t gone as far as Meira had, her hand was certainly reaching for _something_ before that. “You found him.” She says wryly.

Sam chuckles a little, but it sounds more dazed than amused. “Dad, what are you doing here? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” John assures them. Dismissively, Meira can’t help but think. “I read the news about Daniel, and I got here as fast as I could.” He explains, then glances around warily. “We should get out of the open.” He gives them an address and then melts back into the gloom.

The address turns out to be a motel, and they book rooms, one for Sam and Dean, one for Meira and Haley, but they congregate in Sam and Dean’s room. The air thickens with nervous tension as they hover about, waiting. It seems to take forever, even though it’s only a few minutes before there’s a knock on the door and John slips inside. “You weren’t followed?” He checks with Sam and Dean.

“No sir.” Dean says at once.

“Good.” John nods, and a little of the tension seeps out of his posture. He offers a hand to Haley. “John Winchester.”

“Haley Collins.” She replies, shaking it.

John raises his eyebrows at Dean in a clear demand for information. “Her brother got nabbed by that wendigo you sent us after a while back, and I guess Haley decided she wanted to be a hunter after that. She’s the one who let us know what happened here.” Dean explains succinctly.

John nods slowly. “I remember. Your brother okay?” He asks warily.

Haley nods, smiling. “Meira saved him.”

Meira can practically _see_ the suspicion rearing behind John’s eyes, even as he nods his understanding. Then his eyes flick to her, and she meets his gaze squarely. “And you’re still hanging around.” He says to her, light and unimpressed.

“Well, _someone_ has to stick around and take care of these two.” Meira retorts.

John’s expression darkens, but it’s Dean who bursts out “Jesus _Christ_. Could you _not_? For _five minutes_?”

Meira scrubs her hands over her face, already regretting her outburst. She really, really needs to stop antagonising John. She’s trying to save his damned life, here. It’s just that his suspicion rubs her the wrong way, even though she can understand why he might feel that way. She wants to grab him and shake him and yell that she’s just trying to help, but one, he wouldn’t believe her, and two, that would mean actually addressing the elephant in the room, and she doesn’t want to.

After the silence has stretched out into uncomfortable, Sam offers John the letter and asks about how he knew Elkins. They realise the vampires have the Colt, and John makes a big deal out of it without ever once actually explaining himself. Meira bites her tongue so hard she tastes blood. “Dad, you know how to track vampires?” Dean asks.

“You figured that out already?” John asks, sounding impressed, right up until Dean’s eyes flicker over to Meira, at which point his tone slips into wary disbelief. “You’ve hunted vampires before?”

“Me?” Meira echoes with a scoff. “Nah. But my dad did. Remind me to tell you the story of the vampirates when this is all over.” She chirps irreverently.

Dean laughs. “Vampirates?” He asks, sounding delighted.

Meira grins. “ _Vampirates_.” She confirms. “Cool, isn’t it?”

“You’re such dorks.” Sam accuses.

“Says the D’n’D nerd.” Dean retorts.

“Boys.” John says, and immediately, all teasing banter stops. “Back to business. Vampires _are_ hard to track, and harder to kill, but it’s not impossible.” He tells them. “People like Elkins have managed it well enough to drive them almost to extinction.” He says it so proudly that Meira’s almost overcome by a visceral urge to punch him. She turns away and flexes her hands, going to retrieve the machetes Dean brought in with him and a whetstone. Best to have them sharp if they’re about to be beheading people with them. “Since you’re apparently our resident expert, Meira…” John says, and Meira nearly startles, has to force herself to breathe steadily. He just can’t _help_ but make his suspicion obvious, can he? “Why don’t you tell us about how to track and kill vampires?”

“Beheading is the only sure way to kill them. Or immolation, but that’s pretty hard when they’re still alive and kicking.” Meira tells the machetes, very deliberately not looking up at John. She’s holding on to her temper by her fingernails. “Tracking them is harder. There’s no fixed pattern. Suggesting there is would be like suggesting that just because a cop caught one human serial killer, they must be able to track down _any_ human serial killer.”

“But?” John prompts.

Meira rolls her eyes. She knows how _she’d_ track down a vampire nest. She’d listen to gossip, look for a bunch of unrelated adults all living together like some belated college dorm experience, look for ones that chose to work the night shift, that avoided social eating. But that was how to find _any_ vampire nest, and Meira didn’t want to tell John Winchester that, not when he spoke of the genocide of the entire species so casually, so _proudly_. “They’ll be abducting people. How often depends on how many are in the nest. We know there are at least four, so…” Meira trails off to think. “Maybe two a month, or more.”

“Four?” John questions.

Sam dutifully reports what Beth had told them, and Meira is grateful to be able to go back to sharpening their blades. After a minute, Haley sits down beside her, watching her work. “So, I’m getting the feeling you found John a while ago.” She says quietly. Not so quietly that the men won’t be able to hear, but since they’re all crowded around the police scanner John’s setting up, Meira figures it’ll do.

“Mm. Couple months ago. Demon set a trap for him and we were the bait.” Meira explains.

Haley’s eyes widen. “Demon?” She asks, and Meira nods with a rueful grimace. “How do you deal with those, then?” Haley asks, all practicality, and Meira smiles fondly at her and goes on to explain devil’s traps and exorcisms, putting aside the machetes once she’s done with them in order to draw out a couple of variations of devil’s traps for Haley to keep for reference.

“Oh, hey.” Dean says, coming to join them. “You promised to teach us how to do your special exorcism.”

 _That_ gets John’s attention, and of course Sam follows. “Special exorcism?” John asks sceptically.

Meira shoots him a glare, and debates refusing to teach him, but… that’s churlish, and she knows it, so she shoves the impulse down, and settles in. “Okay. The first thing you need to know is that this is a holy language. Where Latin needs a lot of ceremony and entreaties to God to intercede, all you really need to say ‘go away’ and the demon will.”

“Oh, really?” John demands.

“If you’re going to doubt everything I say, asshole, there’s the fucking door.” Meira snaps, and then carries on without waiting for him to retort. “So. ‘Bols ma a’aiom.’ ‘Bols’ means to be, to exist, in the imperative form.” Meira catches the confused look on Dean’s face, and smiles. “It’s an instruction, a command. ‘ma’ is a negator, it can mean ‘no or ‘not’ or ‘un’ or sometimes even ‘never’, depending on context. ‘A’aiom’ means… well, most literally it means ‘one of many’ but a better translation would be ‘among us’.”

“So, ‘bols ma a’aiom’ means ‘be not among us’.” Sam summarises.

Meira nods. “‘Pa’aox il adohi ol Onsamir’ is ‘return to the kingdom of Hell’, simply. Although the ‘the’ is implied, rather than stated because articles aren’t really a thing. And ‘Onsamir’ doesn’t literally mean ‘Hell’, it actually means ‘eternal torment’, but since that’s what Hell has come to mean in English, it’s a fair enough translation.”

“And the rest?” Dean asks.

“‘Niiso i etharzi’ is ‘Go in peace’, more or less.” Meira begins.

“Go in peace?” John echoes incredulously.

Meira glares at him. “One, you’re an asshole if you judge someone for feeling pity, even for demons. They started out innocent souls, just like the rest of us, and I’m allowed to wish them a moment of peace if I want to, or did you miss the ‘kingdom of _eternal torment_ ’ part? And _two_ , you giant bag of dicks, it’s _actually_ more literally ‘come away peacefully’ which you would have been able to figure out from context if you’d let me finish, because the _other_ half of that sentence is ‘od yinay ma doal’ which means ‘and _do no harm_ ’.”

“To make sure the demon doesn’t kill the host on the way out.” Dean realises.

Meira nods shortly, still glaring at John. “They’re petty enough to do that if you let them.”

“So… ‘ma’ is ‘no’ in this context, and… ‘doal’ is ‘harm’?” Sam guesses.

Meira nods. “It’s a difficult word to translate because there are several different words for ‘harm’ in this language, and the differences are… ‘doal’ refers to… I suppose you could say cardinal sins? Irreversible damage. Generally to living beings. Whereas ‘mir’ is… prolonged warping of a soul. Then there’s ‘quasahi’ which is...somewhere between sacrifice and sensation?” Sam frowns, and Meira struggles to find a way to explain that isn’t, um, _suspect_. “It’s… pain endured willingly. The experience of pain as used to define the opposite.” Sam’s frown deepens.

Dean snorts. “You mean it’s a holy word for BDSM?” He asks.

Meira grimaces. “Yeah…” She says, drawing the word out reluctantly. “Yeah, basically.”

Sam clears his throat pointedly over the sound of Haley’s giggles and John’s sigh. “There was another word in that second sentence that you’ve skipped over. ‘Ammal.’”

“Basic translation? It means ‘demon’. I was just specifying exactly who I was talking to, to make extra sure it stuck.” Meira explains.

“Complicated translation?” Sam requests, and Dean groans.

“It’s a contraction. The original word was ‘a’ammaolp’ which, broken down means something like ‘one of the unholy.’” Sam attempts to repeat the word, but stumbles over it, and Meira snickers. “You can understand why it ended up getting shortened to ‘ammal.’” Sam nods fervently.

“And the last part?” Dean asks.

“‘Oyi gohe Zire.’” Meira repeats, and then shrugs. “‘Thus sayeth the Lord.’” She translates. “It’s the only necessary part. All the rest you can mix and match as you choose, but that… if the rest of the exorcism is the bullet, that’s how you pull the trigger.”

Sam offers her a smile. “Thanks for explaining.” He says earnestly. “I figure it’s not something you share lightly, so… thanks.”

Meira smiles back, suddenly feeling very, very tired. “You’re welcome.” She says, and with that, the impromptu lesson is clearly over. John goes back to the police scanner, and after making a few notes, sends Sam out to get a bunch of newspapers, and settles in to try and figure out how to find the vampires. Meira decides if anyone’s going to get to eat tonight, she’s going to have to take care of it herself, and so heads for the door.

“Where are you going?” John asks without looking up.

Meira pauses, half way out the door, and wrestles with her temper. “To get food.” She says, as evenly as she can manage. _Be nice_ , she reminds herself, and grits out. “Any preference?”

John glances up at that. “Chinese. Spicy beef chow mein.” He says, because of course he’d pick Meira’s least favourite take-out. She debates bringing back Greek or maybe Indian, just to spite him. “Dean, go with her.” He orders. Meira’s jaw drops open, and Dean looks between the two of them warily, before sighing, and grabbing his jacket. Meira steps back to let him through the door, and then slams it viciously behind her.

“Dude.” Dean says, but doesn’t follow it up with anything. He doesn’t even comment when Meira bypasses the Impala, instead choosing to walk, just keeps pace with her anger-fuelled stride. She spots a pizza place maybe fifteen minutes later, and heads for it. “Dad asked for Chinese.” Dean points out.

“If he wants Chinese, he can fucking get it himself.” Meira retorts.

He waits until after they’ve ordered enough to feed a small army and have sat down to wait for it to be ready before he points out, “He’s got his reasons to be worried.”

Meira sighs and drops her chin onto her folded arms. “I know, okay? He doesn’t know me, I just popped up out of nowhere, he can’t find a background on me. He thinks I’m like- like the demon that possessed Meg or something, I _know._ ” Meira doesn’t know how to explain that it mostly bothers her because… because she’s afraid that it will make Sam and Dean not trust her. She doesn’t even really know why they do. It’s not as if she’s done anything particularly heroic or self-sacrificing for them. She couldn’t even save Dean’s life when he was _literally_ dying. Mostly she’s just argued with them about their lifestyle and their philosophy and their methods. And John is their _dad_. If her dad, if _any_ of her dads took one look at a new friend of hers and refused to trust them, Meira would listen.

She doesn’t _want_ to know if her dad doesn’t really trust her. Just the thought makes her feel sick and frightened. So she doesn’t say anything about it, even though that’s at the root of her attitude. Instead, she goes with the other factor that keeps making her bristle in John’s presence. “It’d be one thing if it was just that he didn’t trust me. I don’t _like_ it, but I can _deal_. I would have brought him his stupid too-greasy Chinese if he hadn’t-”

“Hadn’t what?” Dean prompts incredulously.

“Just barked an order at you without so much as _looking_ at you, never mind a courtesy ‘if you wouldn’t mind’.” Meira bites out, then ducks lower, pressing her mouth against her arm to stop an entire rant from falling out.

Dean rolls his eyes, very obviously, but is saved from having to comment when their order is brought over. He redirects his energy to thanking the server with a wide, charming grin and a flirtatious wink that makes her giggle. Meira wishes she had the energy to do the same, but as it is, she’s already bracing herself for the return to the motel room.

John gives her a scathing look when he sees the pizza, but it doesn’t stop him from eating almost a whole meat-lovers pizza by himself while pouring over the newspapers Sam brought back. After they’ve all eaten, Meira and Haley head to their own room to get some sleep, and Meira is honestly grateful for the excuse to get away from John for the rest of the evening.

* * *

**Manning, Colorado – Friday 28 th  July 2006 **

Meira wakes to the sound of her text-alert, and she flails a hand out from under the covers to grab her mobile and flip it open. It’s a text from Dean, and it takes her a moment to process what she’s reading. A series of brief directions, followed by ‘prob vamp kdnp’ which all comes together to tell her that they found a lead on the vampires, and _didn’t wake her_ before they took off after it. Meira doesn’t need three guesses to figure out whose idea that was.

She flings the covers off and snatches up her clothes on the way to the bathroom. “Haley!” She calls over her shoulder, and there’s a muffled hum from the other bed. “We’ve got a lead! Time to haul ass!”

Five minutes later, they’re in Haley’s car, tearing out of the parking lot. “Is it always like this with you guys?” Haley asks. “This… hectic?”

Meira wants to say this is all John’s fault, but it would be a lie, it would’ve still been exactly this hectic if she’d been woken by Dean barging in to let her know about the lead, instead of texting her, she’d just have felt better about it. “Not _always_ , but… a lot of the time, yeah. People’s lives are on the line. The quicker we wrap a hunt up, the more people we save.”

Haley nods an acknowledgement. “I guess I haven’t really faced down anything this dire since…” She trails off, pulling a face even as she doesn’t take her eyes off the road. “Since the wendigo.” She finishes on a sigh. “It’s all mostly been ghosts and poltergeists since then. That one witch, and she just needed someone to talk to.”

Meira manages half a smile, which of course dies again when they finally catch up with the men. She’s not sure if it makes her feel better or worse that when she gets out of Haley’s car, she realises that Sam and John are arguing, albeit a tense non-shouty kind of arguing. Meira catches Dean’s eye, and reminds herself _not_ to lose her temper. “Catch us up?” She asks, keeping her tone carefully neutral. It’s worth it for the way tension eases out of Dean’s shoulders.

“The vampires are heading west.” John informs her shortly.

“Taking their new bloodbags with them, I assume.” Meira huffs. John gives a short nod. “You think their nest is nearby, or is this going to turn into a cross-country thing?”

“You think they’d risk taking ‘bloodbags’ with them when they move?” John questions.

“I think they’d rather risk that than moving without lunch nearby.” Meira says, then reconsider and shrugs. She’s basing that assessment off the vampires she knows, after all, the ones that care whether they start getting hungry around strangers or not. “Or maybe not, if they’re reckless enough to nab just anyone the moment they get peckish.”

John nods again, heading towards his own car before pausing and looking back at Haley. “This is probably going to get ugly, and I’m sure you’ve got a life to get back to.” He tells her.

Haley frowns at him. “I can call in sick if it takes longer than the weekend.”

“This isn’t your fight.” John presses, and Meira rolls her eyes and turns away, biting her tongue.

“Why not?” Haley replies evenly, far more even-tempered than Meira could ever pretend to be. “I’ll make it my fight. I almost lost my brother to a monster, and the only reason I didn’t was because there were people there who knew what it was and how to kill it, who made it their fight even though it was clear the person they were looking for wasn’t there. I decided to pay it forward. Now, I’ve got a chance to pay it back, too.”

“Do you even know how to use one of these?” John asks her, lifting one side of his jacket to show off the machete strapped to the lining.

 _Pointy end goes in the other guy_ , Meira thinks but doesn’t say. “I played baseball in high school.” Is what Haley chooses to counter with. “I think I can swing one well enough.”

John doesn’t look very happy about it, but he tips his head in acknowledgement. “On your own head be it.” He tells her, and turns away, walking past the Impala. “Hey, Dean, why don’t you touch up your car before you get rust?” He calls over his shoulder, and Meira tenses, outrage burning through her like lava. “I wouldn’t have given you the damn thing if I thought you were going to ruin it.”

The only reason Meira doesn’t punch John in the face for that is because Sam grabs her arm and yanks her back. Meira isn’t even sure if her anger is on her dad’s behalf, or on the Impala’s, just that the comment, tossed out so casually like that, is the most offensive thing she’s heard fall out of John’s mouth yet and she wants to make him _eat it_ , preferably as the side to a knuckle sandwich.

John doesn’t miss the aborted lunge. Of course he doesn’t, he’s a hunter. He’s facing her with a hand on the butt of the gun hidden in his waistband before Meira even realises she’s being held back. He doesn’t draw it, though, once he sees that Sam’s got it handled. “Problem?” John demands.

Meira manages to swallow the first thing that wants to fall out of her mouth, just _barely_ refrains from telling him that Dean loves that car more than John ever has or would or _could_ , because her dad has more love in his pinky than John has managed to feel in his entire life. She knows that Dean wouldn’t thank her for that, so instead, what she spits out is “Don’t you _dare_ talk about her like that.”

John looks so flabbergasted it’s almost funny.

After a beat of silence, in which John visibly struggles for something to say in the face of that, Dean huffs softly. “Get in the car, Meira.” He says, exasperated, and tosses her the keys over the roof. Meira catches them out of pure reflex, not expecting that at all, and then lets the last of her anger bleed out of her as she does as she’s told.

“Jeez.” Sam says once they’re on the road, leaning over the back of the front seat to talk to Meira more easily. “I know you don’t like him much, but I thought you were exaggerating when you implied you wanted to kill him.”

“I wasn’t going to kill him.” Meira huffs, watching the rear end of John’s stupid, ugly truck as it leads the way west. “I wouldn’t.”

“But you kind of want to.” Sam presses, and it’s a statement of fact, without a hint of doubt, but he’s clearly angling for more information.

Meira sighs and gives it to him. “Well, yeah. But no, not really. I’ve got a freaking temper, okay, I know that, and he pisses me the fuck off, and I really wish you’d let me clock him one for that crack, because he fucking deserved it, but I _have_ a knife on me, and I didn’t go for it.” Didn’t even instinctively reach for her angel blade, which she’s kind of proud of herself for.

“Yeah, but… You have two angry modes.” Sam points out. “You only ever go _cold_ like that when you’re _serious_ about it. You’ve never actually looked at Dad like that before. You snapped and snarled and provoked him like a pro, but you never…” He trails off, helpless and prompting.

“You ever seen those cheesy soaps where everyone’s fucking dysfunctional and everyone pretends it’s normal and fine?” Meira asks, and Sam snorts but nods to prompt her on. “I remember seeing this one scene of a mom and her daughter going to dinner with the grandmother, and the kid orders a chocolate fudge sundae for desert, and the grandmother asks ‘Are you really going to let her eat that? She’s already getting a bit chubby.’” Meira’s hands tighten on the wheel just thinking about it. “I nearly put my fist through the TV.”

Dean gives a reluctant chuckle. “She’s my _car_ , not my _kid_.” He points out.

“You and I both know that cars can have souls, too.” Meira reminds him. Dean doesn’t have anything to say to that, just swallows once and takes to staring out of the window.

* * *

**Grand Junction, Colorado – Friday 28 th  July 2006 **

They stop for lunch in the city, after hours of fruitless driving around. What little equanimity Meira managed to scrape back together has been entirely frayed. She honestly has no idea what John thinks he’s doing, and he won’t explain. If this were a hunt they were working by themselves, they’d already be eyeball deep in traffic cams, but apparently John Winchester works in mysterious ways.

Meira isn’t the only one it bothers, clearly, because Sam bitches about it while they eat, and Dean argues, and Meira keeps her head down and pretends she can’t hear a word they’re saying. “You know, we’re not that far from Lost Creek now. An hour, maybe.” Haley says into a lull in the argument. “It’s kind of unnerving, thinking that there might’ve been a nest of vampires this close for ages and I never noticed.” She admits with a grimace.

“There was a wendigo that close for decades.” Meira reminds her. “There are threats everywhere. If you let it bother you too much, you’d never leave the house.”

Haley snorts. “You’re right.”

They’re left cooling their heels for hours, and while John sometimes demands Sam and Dean look something up for him, mostly they’re nothing more than dead weight. “You know, we could have driven to Lost Creek and back three times by now.” Meira huffs. “It’d be nice to see Ben and Tommy again, and we’d have been just as useful to the hunt.”

“Dad’s on it.” Dean says, but it’s starting to sound more tired and rote than defensive.

Meira makes an annoyed sound, and subsides. Then John’s barking orders again and they’re on the road. Meira rides with Haley this time, too worn thin by the inaction to bear riding in a car with Dean’s staunch defensiveness and Sam’s increasing bitchiness. She _needs_ to keep her god damned cool. There’s a lot of things she’d like to change, if she can, a lot of pieces of this chapter of the story that could go so much better, but the important part is the car crash. If she can just keep her head until then, _that’s_ when she needs to act.

That means she needs to be in a position to be _able_ to act, and that means not forcing Sam and Dean to pick a side, because they won’t pick hers, and then she’ll be screwed. Even if the waiting is going to drive her _insane_. So she makes a graceful retreat, or as graceful as she can manage, and rides with Haley. It’s _nice_ , to distract herself with chatter about Tommy’s new girlfriend, and Haley’s job, and Ben’s trip cross-country to visit Charlie and Matt during his summer holidays.

And then ahead of them the Impala lurches forward, overtakes John’s SUV, and then slams the breaks on, forcing first John, and then Haley to break far too suddenly as well. “What the hell?” Haley asks, watching through the gloom as Sam bursts out of the Impala, a move that’s echoed by John. “Should we…” Haley begins hesitantly.

“Absolutely not.” Meira replies, sliding down in her seat until she can only just barely see the three men over the dashboard. “‘At the head of all understanding is realising what is and what cannot be, and the consoling of what is not in our power to change.’” She quotes, more to remind herself than in answer to Haley, although it works for that, too. Sort of.

“What?” Haley asks.

Meira sighs and sinks even lower, until her butt is practically sliding off the seat. “Early form of the serenity prayer.” She explains. “We can’t _make_ John be less of an ass, so _please, God,_ grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.” Meira begs to the ceiling.

Haley laughs. “I don’t think you’ve ever been _serene_ a day in your life.” She says brightly.

Meira wonders if that’s her granddad’s way of saying ‘ _some things are beyond even me,_ ’ because, well, she probably _has_ had a serene moment or two, somewhere in her life, maybe, but… She thinks of Jace’s ability to sit still for hours, just watching the rain, and her qaada’s propensity for quiet contemplation, and even her dad’s enjoyment of lazy Sunday afternoons, and figures that, okay, if that’s serenity, it’s not exactly in her nature.

* * *

**Middle of Nowhere, Colorado – Saturday 29 th  July 2006 **

Okay, Meira will admit that the fact that John managed to find the vampires’ nest in a _day_ is impressive. He might not be willing to explain his methods, but they sure do work. And the plan to sneak in while they’re sleeping and steal the Colt and free the vampires’ victims is a good one, too. And the fact that John willingly tells them all about the Colt and explains why he wants it has Meira feeling a lot more kindly disposed towards him. Enough that when he rebuffs her offer to go with him, two going for the Colt and three looking for the kidnapped people is a more even split, she doesn’t take it too personally.

They sneak in to the barn the vampires are nesting in, and John peels off to look for the Colt while the rest of them weave between the hammocks, trying to figure out where they’re keeping their feeders. Sam is the first one to spot the girl tied to the post, but when he makes to go towards her, Meira grabs his arm. He frowns at her. “Why isn’t she with the others?” Meira whispers pointedly.

Sam looks between them, and then his eyes widen. “You think they might’ve-” He whispers, then cuts himself off when Dean kicks a bottle and some of the vampires grumble and shift in their sleep. They don’t wake though, and Sam finishes even more quietly, “-might’ve turned her?”

Meira edges over, keeping her steps silent, and looks the woman over carefully. “She hasn’t been bitten,” she murmurs almost soundlessly to Sam, “so where did the blood come from?” She gestures at the blood on the woman’s blouse.

There’s a sudden loud _clank_ , and Meira spins, machete raised, to see Dean and Haley standing beside cage that _used_ to be locked. Dean grimaces, and Haley stands tense at his side, her own weapon held ready, too, watching his back. When the vampires only shift and grumble without stirring, Dean sighs soundlessly, and eases the cage door open. There are maybe half a dozen people inside, tied up or duct taped, and Meira feels sick anger bubbling in her stomach. An act isn’t _evil_ unless it’s a choice. Vengeful spirits aren’t evil, they’re just wounded and feral, but this? This, Meira would be willing to call evil. It’s not as though vampires _can’t_ live without hurting people, they _choose_ not to, _choose_ to casually treat people as ambulatory snack bars as a matter of _habit_.

Dean and Haley are already inside the cage, untying hands and feet and hushing them repeatedly as they wake, while Meira stands just outside the cage door, helping them out and directing them towards Sam, who directs them back towards the window they came in through. One, two, three, four manage to make their escape before one of the captives staggers, woozy with blood loss, and crashes into one of the hammocks. Meira bolts forwards, grabbing the woman before the vampire can and shoving her towards Sam with one hand while the other swings her machete at the vampire as they lunge upright, fangs bared in a predator’s warning snarl.

There’s a sickening _schlock_ as the brutally sharp blade slices through flesh and bone, and the head bounces to the floor at Meira’s feet. The body topples more slowly, slumping forwards, bent nearly in double, and then sliding over and down as the hammock twists and pulls and spills its unbalanced, lifeless load to the floor.

By that point, of course, the other vampires are all awake and shrieking. “Haley, get them _out_!” Dean barks, throwing himself between the last guy just stumbling out of the cage and the vamprie rushing him. Dean’s clearly not ready to account for the preternatural speed of the vampire, and gets knocked clean off his feet by one casual blow. “Dean!” Meira and Sam shout in unison, but Meira can’t even _see_ what happens to him next because by then, she’s already got the other two bearing down on her. After all, she is the one that killed their nestmate. She dodges the first attack, dancing backwards and lashing out, but the two vampires converging on her duck, and come up inside her reach.

Then Sam is at her side, and one of the vampires loses her head to his blade. The other snarls in outrage and swings at Meira. She darts backwards again, and feels her back hit a wall. Not good. The vampire lunges at her, fist leading, and she ducks down and to the side, but his knee comes up and catches her in the gut hard enough to launch her into the air. She hits the ground and rolls sideways on instinct, wheezing for breath that she won’t _let_ come, because John fucking Winchester is going to hear about this fight, and she just _knows_ he’s going to pick at every discrepancy in her injuries with a fine-tooth comb if she heals so much as a freaking splinter.

The vampire punches the floor where she’d landed with enough force to leave a small crater in the dirt. Then he whirls on her, eyes flashing, teeth bared and fangs on full display. So focused on her that he doesn’t even notice the machete that swings in and takes his head off. Dean steps over the corpse while the head is still rolling, and yanks her to her feet, entirely uncaring of the blood dripping down one side of his face. “Thanks.” Meira wheezes.

Dean doesn’t have time to reply, because there’s still at least one more vampire, not counting the newest one, struggling against her bonds, although whether it’s because she wants to join the fight, or because she wants to escape, Meira has no idea. The other one is more wary now that they’ve killed three of his nestmates, but he’s not backing down, either, prowling and snarling and watching them with eyes that flash in the dimness of the barn.

“Boys! Run!” John shouts, appearing out of a corridor and spinning off to the side at once, blade flashing out behind him which the vampire chasing him only just barely ducks.

Sam and Dean bolt towards the window, and Meira is a step behind. They bolt out and into the woods, but the vampires don’t follow them into the sunlight. They slow to a jog. “You alright?” Sam asks Meira.

“Just a bit winded.” Meira assures him. “Dean?” She checks.

“T’is but a scratch.” Dean informs her with a cocky grin.

Meira snorts. “A scratch?” She demands, playing along. “Your arms off!”

“Now’s _not_ the time.” John butts in, although he sounds more amused than chiding.

Then they’re through the first cluster of trees, and they find Haley waiting with the newly freed captives by the cars. “Hey guys, everyone doing okay?” Meira calls, looking to Haley first. She nods, and the others variously nod, sob, or just stare at her. “So, here’s the deal. We’re going to take you to the hospital now, but, frankly, you really don’t want to go blabbing about vampires to the cops, so substitute creepy black magic cult for vampire nest, and for any of the weird specifics you can’t lie about, just look distressed and say ‘I don’t know’.” She advises.

One of the newer abductees snorts. “What about you? What do we say about you?”

“We’re no one.” Dean says at once. “You got out on your own, we’re just helpful citizens who found you wandering the highway and gave you a lift.”

“I’ll give you my number, though.” Meira offers. “That way you can call me if anything else like this happens.”

“What-” One of the guys begins, then clears his throat because his voice is shaking almost as badly as the rest of him. “What about Jenny?”

“The one that was still tied to the post?” Sam asks, and the guy nods jerkily. “I’m sorry, I think they turned her.” He tells him, and the guy’s expression crumples. Meira’s stomach turns over with guilt. She knows that they wouldn’t have gotten these guys out if she’d let Sam try to free her at first, but she could have freed her later. She’s only just newly turned, and maybe, on her own, she could live a decent life, away from this nest that clearly thinks nothing of abducting and violating people.

But she chose them. Meira keeps sticking on that, even though she knows it’s not entirely fair to blame a newly turned vampire for their reactions. Someone came to free her, to help her get away from the people that abducted her, and she turned on him. That’s not exactly a good sign. Meira takes another look at the guy’s face, and crumples. “I can go back and try to get her out, if you want.” She offers, ignoring the outbursts from Sam and Dean that offer provokes. “But she-”

“No.” John snaps.

Meira goes still. “Dad.” Sam begins, clearly understanding that now all the contrary parts of Meira are hell bent on going back and getting Jenny out of there, whether she wants to be rescued or not. She can always go back to them once she’s out and talked to a sane person for a few minutes, after all.

“If we’re going back, we’re going back _smart_.” John carries on, startling everyone.

Understanding dawns, and Meira snorts. “You didn’t manage to get the Colt, did you?” She asks, darkly amused. John glowers at her.

“We can talk about this later.” Haley interjects, before another argument can start. “We need to get these people to the hospital.” She’s right, so they divvy everyone up between their cars and drive them all to the nearest hospital. While they’re there, Meira sneaks into the morgue, and rifles through the place until she find what she needs.

John gives her a look when she offers the dead man’s blood to him as they’re leaving. It’s an openly assessing look, but not quite as hostile as Meira’s expecting. This time he does actually explain the plan, which Meira appreciates, and it goes off without a hitch. Dean plays bait, the vampire takes it hook, line, and sinker, and they get a hostage to exchange for the Colt. “And Jenny.” Meira points out as they tie their hostage to a tree and start building a bonfire for some reason John won’t explain.

“I don’t know what you expect to do with her.” John says. “She’s a vampire now.”

Meira should have just kept her mouth shut. “She’s been abducted and violated by monsters out of the dark ages. She deserves a _chance_ to try and live a human-friendly life, and she won’t get that with these assholes.”

“Human-friendly?” John repeats, scathing.

“You’re the kind of shitbag who thinks BDSM is abuse, too, aren’t you?” Meira asks him casually without looking at him, still gathering firewood.

John actually stops what he’s doing to work that one out. There’s a long pause. “I think anyone who _invites_ a monster to take a bite out of them is terminally stupid.” He says finally, voice edging towards a growl.

Meira looks up and smiles her sweetest, least sincere smile right into John’s face. “ _Bite me_ , asshole.”

Rage and offence flash across John’s face, but the moment is broken when Sam sighs. “They were doing so well.” He comments to Dean, who snorts and shakes his head.

“Knew it couldn’t last.”

John grits his teeth and turns away. Meira goes to add her contribution to the fire Haley’s building, then hunkers down next to her. “You really think a vampire could live among humans? Without… I don’t know, going nuts and attacking someone?” Haley asks quietly, uncertainly. John scoffs, then heads back to his truck. Meira _studiously_ ignores him.

“There are a couple of ways.” She tells Haley. “Some vampires feed off animals. It’s not… it’s not exactly a _healthy_ option, but it’s an ethical one. Or, well, they only _really_ need about two hundred, three hundred millilitres a day, even if the assholes like to glut themselves. One human could keep one vampire fed indefinitely, as long as they keep an iron-rich diet.”

Haley opens her mouth, but cuts herself off when Dean approaches to add a stinky powder to the fire. A scent blocker, Meira recognises after a moment, even as she uses her grace to block off as much of her own sense of smell as she can. Haley wrinkles her nose, and then pulls her t-shirt up over it to act as a filter. “That’s really all it takes?” Haley asks finally, voice muffled by the fabric, but not so much that Meira can’t understand her.

“A cup a day, and they’ll be indistinguishable from any other person on the street… except for the tapeta lucida and the sensitivity to sunlight, but hey, we need people to work the night shift.” Meira qualifies, shrugging fatalistically.

“Tapeta what?” Haley echoes.

“The cat’s eye effect.” Meira explains, flicking a finger at her eyes. “Vampire eyes do that, too.”

Haley nods her understanding, and contemplates the fire. She’s just opened her mouth to say something, when a shout from behind them cuts her off. “You can’t treat us like this!” Sam is yelling at John, and both Meira and Haley cast a wide-eyed look over their shoulders, before sharing a look and turning deliberately back to the fire. It might stink to high heaven, but it’s still better than getting involved in what’s behind them.

“Awkward.” Meira murmurs, sing-song, under her breath, and Haley laughs. Even as she says it though, Meira can’t help but feel her world steadying out under her feet when her dad actually argues back for once. God, that’s… It’s stupid, to feel reassured by that, but she does anyway. He sounds more like _himself_ , like the himself he’ll be in forty years, like _her dad_.

“We’re running out of time.” John says, in a tone that shuts the conversation down _hard_. “You do your jobs and you get out of the area. That’s an order.”

Meira rolls her eyes so hard she almost sprains something. “‘That’s an order.’” She mimics through a sneer, albeit soundlessly. Haley shakes her head at her, then rises to her feet and holds out a hand to Meira, who takes it and lets the other woman pull her up. She follows her to her car, and then they follow the Impala back towards the nest.

By the time they get there, it’s empty. Not just empty of vampires, but empty of all the little personal effects that had been scattered around last time they were here, the hammocks and the guitar and the books. “There’s no one here.” Sam states, coming back from checking the corridor that branches off from the main part of the barn.

“They were planning to run.” Meira guesses.

“Why did that woman try to jump Dean, then?” Haley wonders.

“She saw an opportunity to whittle down the numbers of the people chasing them?” Meira guesses.

“We need to catch up with Dad.” Dean announces, and he’s not wrong. Not least of all because Jenny is probably with the rest of the vampires, and Meira is still kind of stubbornly holding onto the hope that she’ll be able to talk her down.

They get there just in time to see the stand-off starting, John climbing out of his truck while three vampires block the road in front of him. Meira assumes the guy in front is the leader, and there’s Jenny behind him, along with another dark-haired man. She and Sam hunker down in the underbrush, while Haley and Dean creep off, circling around the stand-off and waiting to see if John will actually manage to pull this off or not.

“Who are you?” The leader demands.

“The name’s Winchester.” John replies.

“Where are your friends?”

“Cleaning out your nest.”

The vampire’s expression twists. “They already did that.” He spits, and John smirks proudly. The vampire bares his teeth, but they’re still just his original, human set, no fangs yet. “Where’s Kate?” John tugs Kate out of his truck, and she staggers and stumbles into his arms, uncoordinated and woozy from the dead man’s blood they’d dosed her with. “Kate, you alright?” The vampire calls as John walks his hostage forwards.

“I’m sorry, Luther.” Kate says between ragged breaths. “I thought-”

“It’s fine, Kate.” Luther says quickly, an attempt at reassuring that only half works, because he’s clearly alarmed at the state Kate is in. “What’s wrong?”

“Dead man’s blood.” Kate admits sourly.

Luther sneers at John. “You son of a bitch.”

John lays out the trade, the vampire threatens him, if only vaguely, and John doesn’t _quite_ promise not to shoot them with the Colt. They almost manage to make the trade without bloodshed, or at least, potentially without bloodshed, because Meira honestly isn’t sure if John would use the Colt on the vampires or not, but then Kate recovers enough to punch John in the face while he’s reaching for the gun and stagger out of his range while Luther lunges _into_ it in order to press the attack, throwing John into his car with preternatural strength.

Sam lurches up, already shooting. His bolt catches the other male vampire in the chest, and he snarls, rounding on Sam and lurching towards him only to stagger and collapse after a couple of steps. Another crossbow bolt dipped in dead man’s blood whizzes through the air, but Luther ducks and tackles Sam before he can reach the vampire he shot, while Jenny throws herself at Meira.

Meira dodges the first grab, backing away, and then again when Jenny tries to punch her. “Jenny, I’m not going to hurt you, if you’d just _stop_.” Meira says, jumping back out of range as Jenny grabs for her again. Jenny hesitates for a beat, and Meira starts to straighten out of her ready stance. “I just want to talk.”

“Talk?!” Jenny echoes, incredulous.

“Drop your weapons!” Luther shouts, and Meira looks over to see that he’s got an arm around Sam’s neck. “I’ll break his neck.” He warns, when no one moves. Meira drops her machete at once. Dean and Haley take a little longer to obey, but they do it eventually, reluctantly.

“You people.” Luther spits, angry and anguished. “Why can’t you just leave us alone? We’ve as much right to live as you do.”

“Bullshit!” Meira bursts out indignantly. Just about everyone turns to stare at her, the hunters in shock, and the vampires in offence. “ _You_ don’t have any right to say that.” She points to Jenny. “She’s the only vampire here who has the right to say that.”

“What?” Luther asks, frowning at her.

“Dude, you _kidnap_ people, lock them up in your basement, _violate_ their persons, and _torture them to death_.” Meira points out. “Battery farms are sick and wrong when you’re doing it to _non_ -sentient creatures, never mind _people_. You don’t get to pull the ‘we have as much right to live as you’ card when you’re _killing us_ to survive. When you don’t even need to!” Meira throws her hands in the air, frustrated beyond reason. “You arrogant _motherfucker_. You’re not _better_ than humans just because you can run fast and punch hard and shit! _We_ have as much right to live as _you_ , dickwad, and even more right to _stop you when you’re killing people_!”

“We hunt to survive.” Luther tells her, a furious denial.

Meira makes an inarticulate sound of rage, then turns to Jenny, who looks wide-eyed and stunned. “There are better ways to live.” She tells her. “You don’t have to stay with them, or live like that, if you don’t want to. Yeah, you’re a predator now, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be a good person, too.”

Jenny gives a small, disbelieving laugh. “What better ways?” She demands, then swallows hard. “I’m _so_ hungry now, so _thirsty_. Why should I starve myself for other people’s comfort?”

“Who said you had to?” Meira retorts, and holds out one arm, wrist bared.

There’s a sudden tussle as Sam elbows Luther in the side and wrenches out of his grip. Luther doesn’t go after him again, though, too focused on Meira, disbelief writ large across his expression. Meira meets his gaze, then points at her machete, glinting on the asphalt. “May I?” Luther’s eyebrows rise, and he nods slowly.

Meira picks the machete up and holds it above her own arm. “As long as you promise not to bite, or take more than I can spare.” She says to Jenny, who nods rapidly.

“Meira, don’t.” Dean says, but he doesn’t actually make a move to stop her.

Meira pulls the machete across her own wrist, careful not to cut too deep, careful to hold her grace back from healing anything, then drops the machete again and offers it up to Jenny. She lunges forward faster than a human could, grabbing her wrist and lowering her mouth to the cut with the avarice of an addict. She moans at the first taste, and Meira isn’t surprised. Angel blood probably does taste better than plain old human blood. Fangs scrape Meira’s skin but don’t pierce it, so she lets it go, lets Jenny drink from her until she starts to feel light-headed, and then tugs gently on Jenny’s hair. “Okay, I can’t spare much more than that in one go. Come on, off.” She instructs.

Jenny lifts her head, fangs bared, and _shrieks_ , inhuman and reverberating in her throat. Meira has half a second to roll her eyes in exasperation before Jenny lunges for her throat. There are multiple cries of her name, but Meira can’t spare a thought for anyone else right now. She gets her undamaged arm up against Jenny’s collar, bracing her a distance while they topple to the ground. Jenny grabs her arm and wrenches it out of her way, struggling to pin Meira. Meira brings her bloody hand up and jabs for Jenny’s eyes. She recoils, and Meira rolls them, only to get kneed in the side hard enough to possibly crack a rib or two, sending her crashing off Jenny, who rolls and lunges again.

Only to be caught around the waist by Luther, who hauls her back and away right before Dean’s machete takes Jenny’s head off. “Jenny, no!” He barks, and Jenny hisses at him. He hisses right back, like an angry cat, and Jenny flinches. “Kate, take her and _go_!” Luther barks, practically tossing Jenny at Kate while lunging for the last vampire, still on the ground with a bolt through his heart.

Dean darts after him, while Haley and Sam pause beside Meira. “Are you okay?!” Sam demands.

“Fine.” Meira assures him, hauling herself up to sit, and accepting his hand up the rest of the way to her feet. “Someone needs to teach that bitch the meaning of _consent_.” She grumbles, watching Luther manage to fend Dean off despite one arm being occupied carrying his last remaining nestmate.

“Dean, _down_!” John shouts.

Dean drops. There’s a crack of a gunshot. Luther is half way through turning when the bullet impacts and sends him staggering. But it’s not Luther’s skin that crackles with dark lightning. He looks down in horror at the sound, watching as the vampire jerks and shudders, and then something quietly implodes inside him, and he slumps, lifeless.

Luther looks up, wide-eyed, at John, then drops the body with a snarl, and dives for the car that Kate has already started. To Meira’s surprise, John lets him go, watches the car scream off backwards down the road, swerving clumsily sideways, and then around, burning great dark tracks of rubber into the asphalt as they accelerate away.

“Why didn’t you shoot him?” Meira asks.

John snorts. “And waste another bullet?” He asks with genuine humour. “There’s only four left. I’m not squandering any more of them on small fry now that I know it works.” Meira nods her acceptance of that, because, really, it’s a very good point.

“Here.” Sam says, grabbing Meira’s arm and wrapping a strip of fabric Meira’s pretty sure he tore off his jacket around her still bleeding wrist. “That was _stupid_.” He adds, giving her a hard look.

“I think this calls for an ‘I told you so’.” Dean adds, walking over to join them.

Meira gives him a tired look. “Having faith in people isn't stupid.” She says, and it’s in answer to Sam, but she means it for everyone. Dean stares right back, frowning at her in a way that’s more baffled than chiding.

“They’re not people anymore, they’re monsters.” John interjects.

Meira’s temper sparks, flares, and… dies. She’s too _tired_ to keep fighting this when she knows she’s not going to win. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, dude.” She tells him, shaking her head. John gives her a hard look that Meira ignores. “Haley, mind giving me a lift back to the motel? I’m tired, and I want a double bacon cheeseburger before I crash.” She announces.

“Ooh, sounds good.” Dean agrees.

Meira flashes him a weary smile. “See you there?” She checks, and he nods. John disappears somewhere between that lonely stretch of highway and the motel rooms. For a while there, as they eat and then split up to catch a few hours sleep, Meira thinks that her presence has been enough to convince John not to bring his sons along on his quest, and she wonders if she’s just managed to get her grandfather killed in a different way. At least this way he’s… unlikely to end up in hell.

* * *

**Manning, Colorado – Sunday 30 th  July 2006 **

Meira is still sitting up in the dark while Haley sleeps peacefully in the next bed over when she hears the door to the room next door click open. She’s on her feet and out in the hall with a knife in her hand before she realises that it’s John, quietly waking Sam and Dean. “Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep.” He teases in good humour.

“Dad.” Dean says, sounding very awake. “We thought you’d left already.”

“I thought about it.” John admits. “But we still need to have a conversation. You boys ignored a direct order back there.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam says quietly.

“Yeah, but we saved your ass.” Dean interjects.

There’s a _long_ silence after that, and Meira silently leans against the wall just outside the door, shamelessly eavesdropping. After all, it’s this or sit there not sleeping some more, and this is infinitely more interesting. “You’re right.” John says, and Meira tips her head back against the wall, something that’s not quite regret unfurling through her. She’d known, in a distant, hazy sort of way, that her presence got John’s hackles up the same way his presence did for her, but to hear him unbending that far, the _surprise_ she feels at hearing him unbend that far really drives it home, the effect she has.

“It scares the hell out of me. You two are all I’ve got. But I guess we are stronger together.” John capitulates, surprisingly gracefully. “So, we go after this thing as a _family_.” He announces.

Oh, Meira knows what that means. The thought that if she’d actually managed to sleep, she would have woken up tomorrow to find her dad and her uncle gone without a trace stabs right through to her core and makes tears prickle at her eyes.

“And what about Meira?” Sam asks warily

“What about her?” John counters, perfectly indifferent.

“You want us to just leave her here?” Sam challenges.

“She’s not your responsibility, Sam. If she really wants to go hunting that badly, she can hunt with that Haley girl. This has nothing to do with her.”

“She can help.” Sam insists. Meira feels both touched by his defence of her, and also kind of sick that her dad isn’t saying anything. She reminds herself that she expected this, that she’s known full well this whole time that she is _not_ as important to them as they are to her.

John sighs. “I don’t trust her.”

“She’s done nothing but help us for the last year.” Sam points out.

“Exactly.” John interrupts before Sam can press the point. “The last year. Because she just turned up, out of nowhere, _right_ when this thing started picking up again. A week after the demon comes after your girlfriend, you just _happen_ to run into her? A girl with no traceable history or connections at all, with a convenient amount of knowledge about the supernatural? I taught you boys better than to accept something like that at face value.”

Sam doesn’t say a word.

“She did explain a bit more about her lack of history.” Dean says into the heavy silence.

“When?” Sam asks, startled.

“While you were trapped in the Benders’ basement. Apparently the reason she’s never had a legal identity is because no one except her family knew her mom was pregnant, and it ended in an amateur caesarian.”

“ _Christ_.” Sam swears. “No wonder she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Or it could be a lie.” John points out.

“I don’t think so, Dad.” Dean says, a touch rueful. “She really didn’t sound like she was lying.”

“Then how do you explain the fact that there were no disappearances of a whole family in this area around that time?” John challenges.

“If they were living off the grid, maybe no one noticed.” Sam counters.

“I find it real hard to believe a girl that gregarious grew up entirely off the grid.” John counters. “You said yourself she’s good at staying in touch with people. Why only people from _after_ she met you? Why isn’t there _anyone_ from before November last year that knows anything about her. It’s like she just appeared out of thin air on Blackwater Ridge, just in time to meet you there.”

Well, he’s not wrong, Meira thinks in despair.

“You think she’s working with the demon?” Dean challenges.

“I don’t know, maybe.” John says. “You’ve already had one demon try to insinuate herself into your lives. A demon that was _apparently_ possessing a friend of Meira’s family, which, by the way, there was no record of a Meg Masters or anyone matching her description showing up in a hospital in Chicago that day, after the first time, anyway.” Meira curses herself, her granddad, her _grandfather_ and his stupidly attentive hunter instincts.

“ _What_?” Dean barks.

“So she’s lied to your face at least once that I can confirm. Who knows how many more?”

Meira figures nothing about this is going to get _better_ if she lets it continue on this trajectory, so she steps into the doorway, in plain view of Sam and Dean, whose eyes widen in alarm. John whips around, spots the knife in Meira’s hand, and draws a gun. Draws the Colt, Meira realises, even as she moves very slowly, very deliberately putting the knife down on the counter just inside the doorway, sliding it away from herself and spreading her hands in a gesture of surrender.

“How long were you listening?” John asks.

Meira huffs. “I heard someone, or some _thing,_ sneaking into Sam and Dean’s room in the middle of the night, so I came to make sure they were okay.”

“More lies?” John challenges.

“Meg _is_ fine, by the way.” Meira tells him. “If you let me get my phone, I can prove it.”

John’s eyebrows fly up. “Come out of the doorway. Sam will get it.” He instructs, and Meira and Sam obey. When Sam gets back with Meira’s phone, she prays that Meg will forgive her for calling in the middle of the night, and won’t bust her as an angel with a soft spot for a demon to the Winchesters. She finds Meg’s number and hits the call button, then the speaker button.

“Meira? Is something wrong?” Meg’s voice comes through loud and clear, edged with panic.

“Nothing that’s a threat to you.” Meira assures her. “It’s just that Sam and Dean think I never took you to a hospital at all, and I’m kind of being held at gunpoint because they think I might be a demon. They wouldn’t believe me when I told them you were alright without proof, so, yeah. You’re on speaker, by the way, and they’re right here.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Meg snorts. “I don’t know what to say.” She admits wryly. “You saved my life, and you taught me how to protect myself, and you got me home to my family, even if you are a bit stupid sometimes. Erin’s going to be so mad she missed your call, by the way, she’s been whining about wishing she could have met you, too.” Meg tells her.

Meira smiles a little despite herself. “I’m sorry we didn’t stop by when we were in that part of the country, then.”

“Meg?” Dean speaks up, before Meg can say anything else.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t suppose you can prove you’re actually yourself this time?” Dean requests, with just the right mix of sheepishness and challenge in his tone to put people at ease with the question.

Meg is silent for a moment, then she sighs. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas-” She goes through the whole thing, from beginning to end, and while her Latin is a little shaky, it’s solid enough that Meira’s got no doubts it would work. She’s a little bit stunned, frankly, because she didn’t teach Meg that. She must have figured it out by herself. “-te rogamus, audi nos.” Meg concludes. “There, satisfied?”

Dean glances at his dad, eyebrows raised, and John nods once, ruefully impressed as he slowly lowers the Colt away from Meira. It makes Dean grin with relief, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Yeah. Sorry for waking you up with this. We’re glad you’re okay.”

“Me too.” Meg agrees fervently. “And, listen… Meira’s a bit of an idiot, honestly, but she really did save my life. She’s a good person.”

Meira grins. “Just a person.” She corrects.

“Who tries to do more good things than bad, yeah, yeah, you said.” Meg interrupts, and Meira can _hear_ her rolling her eyes. “I still say there’s not really a difference, but whatever. Can I go back to sleep now?” She asks.

Meira looks to John, eyebrows raised, and he nods once. “Yeah, thanks.”

There’s a moment of silence, then “You’re an _idiot_.” Meg informs her, and Meira laughs, because, well, yeah. Given the hole she’s dug for herself here, she can’t exactly argue. “Don’t die.” Meg adds, and then hangs up.

Meira flips the phone closed. “How did she survive if you didn’t take her to a hospital?” John asks.

“She wouldn’t have survived long enough to _get_ to the hospital.” Meira tells him honestly. “So I improvised.”

“You _didn’t_!” Dean explodes suddenly, eyes wide. Meira goes very still in an effort not to react, because she has _no_ idea what Dean’s talking about, but if he’s about to hand her a ladder out of this hole, she doesn’t want to reject it. “You- Did you- Summoning a _god_ , Meira?!” He explodes.

Oh. That’s actually a really good explanation. Meira should have thought of that herself. She tries to look sheepish. It’s not that hard, with her dad looking at her like that. That expression has preceded many a lecture in her childhood. “I had the stuff right there, I had to _try_.” She defends.

“What did it want in return?” Sam asks, worried.

Meira shakes her head, then realises they absolutely would not believe that any sort of pagan god would heal someone out of the goodness of their heart, and tries to come up with an explanation that is as close to the truth as possible. “It made me experience her pain.” She half-lies, and Sam winces.

“A god?” John challenges. “You just _happened_ to have the stuff to summon a god with you?”

Oh, Meira’s going to make John regret _that_ line of questioning. “No, actually.” She says brightly. “I put it together a few months back, you know, that time when Dean was dying. Only you _don’t_ know that, because you weren’t there, even though Sam must have left you half a dozen messages about it. But what do I know, maybe you were busy and missed them. Must’ve, right? Else you would have been there, right? I mean, any good father would want to be there for his son if he was dying, right?” She asks.

Dead silence answers her.

“Or, you know, that time we thought the thing that killed your wife was back in your old house and Dean called you and asked you to come help? A good father would have come running, right? Not responded two weeks later with marching orders, right?”

“I was there.” John bites out, looking pained and furious. “Of course I came.”

Meira stares at him, fighting the sudden, cold _fury_ rolling through her. She can’t help but notice, after all, that he only defended himself on the latter score. When the demon might have been involved, of course he came, but when Dean was _dying_? _Silence_.

She’s just dodged this bullet, though, just barely managed to ease the mistrust enough that she dares to hope she’s not going to be left behind somewhere where she can’t _help them_ , and she doesn’t want to ruin that by doing something stupid like throwing a punch and getting herself shot and revealing her healing abilities and making them think she’s a demon all over again. Still, her voice is _ice_ when she speaks. “Since we’ve thoroughly established that you don’t trust me and I don’t like you, perhaps we can call a truce until we’ve killed this yellow-eyed motherfucker?”

After far too long a pause for comfort, John sighs and nods. He tucks the Colt away, and then grudgingly sticks his hand out. Meira is so, so tempted to use a little grace to leave him with bruises when she shakes it, but she restrains herself, because that _would_ be stupid. Instead, she shakes his hand like a normal person, and doesn’t even rise to the bait when his grip leans more towards crushing than firm. “Truce.” John agrees grimly.

Meira smiles, entirely insincere. “Truce.”


	9. Damnation

**Manning Colorado – Sunday 30 th  July 2006 **

They say goodbye to Haley in the morning. She shakes John’s hand and gives the rest of them hugs. “You guys should stop by for a visit, when you have the time.” She says, smiling wryly. Sam and Dean make their usual noncommittal noises, and Meira promises not to be a stranger, even though she can’t quite bring herself to make any promises on Sam and Dean’s behalf, not after last night.

Then John lays out what he knows, casting Meira suspicious looks every five minutes. Meira has no idea what he wants from her, what she could possibly do to convince him she wants to _help_ , so she mostly stays out of it while he explains about the hiatus, the resurgence of activity, and the signs he’s been using to track it. Meira isn’t surprised that a Prince of Hell walking the earth would disrupt the environment, but she is reluctantly impressed that John managed to put it together. To find enough of a pattern to differentiate from the usual weather fluctuations.

“Do you know how long it’s been doing this?” Meira wonders.

“What?” John asks, frowning at her as she stares up at his pinboard map of locations he knows the demon has hit.

“Well, twenty-two years of nothing, and then it starts up again?” Meira asks. “Did you check to see if there was anything twenty-two years before it came after your family? Or twenty-two years before that?” She shrugs, turning around to look at him. “I don’t know, it just occurred to me. It’s probably not relevant to killing it.”

“Yeah, there was.” John says after a long moment. “I managed to find enough records to say it’s been doing this since the nineteenth century, but there’s not enough data from before then to be certain.” Into the silence following that pronouncement, two phones ring. Meira recognises her own ringtone, and the other belongs to John.

Meira is startled to see that it’s Max calling, and then she remembers how the rest of this story goes. Remembers, in her dad’s own words, hearing about how the demon had gone after the friends and allies of the Winchesters when they got too close to it. “Max?” She asks, trying to keep her alarm out of her voice. “Everything okay?”

Across the room, John answers his phone with a brisk “Jim?”

“Meira.” Max greets, and he sounds shaky. “There was a demon here just now, at the church. It was looking for the Winchesters. Figured you deserved a heads up.”

“A demon?” John demands into his own phone, loudly. “Jim, was it- did it have yellow eyes?”

“Are you okay?” Meira asks Max, figuring John has the information-gathering angle covered.

“I- I have no idea.” Max confesses. “It knew me. It said- Meira, it said it knew the demon that killed my mother.” He tells her, voice wavering. Meira grimaces, getting a hunch that it was probably Megaera going after Pastor Jim. Maybe she should have just sent her back to Hell when she had the chance. “I tried to- I used my powers on it, to hold it still, while Pastor Jim did an exorcism, but it…” Max makes a small sound, pained, and Meira wishes she could give him a hug. “It was like trying to hold onto a rampaging bull. I couldn’t- Pastor Jim wants me to go to the hospital. My nose and ears started bleeding, and I feel… off.” Max admits.

Meira sighs, feeling guilty. “It sounds like psychic strain. You should be alright, but there’s no harm in going to the hospital just in case.”

“Yeah.” Max agrees. “We’ve got to go there anyway. The girl it was possessing still hasn’t woken up, so… yeah.” He says weakly.

“I hope she’s okay.” Meira says, wincing. It’s partly on her if she’s not, after all.

“Me too.” Max agrees, and then Meira can hear him swallowing. “Be careful, okay?” He says, and when Meira promises that they will, he hangs up. She looks up to see that John is still on the phone, listening intently to whatever Pastor Jim is tell him. “What’s going on?” Dean demands, the moment he sees that she’s not on the phone anymore.

“A demon attacked Pastor Jim in his church, looking for us.” Meira tells him. “It taunted Max about his mom, so I figure it’s probably in league with _the_ demon. Max gave himself psychic strain trying to hold it off long enough for Jim to get an exorcism out.”

“Looking for us?” Sam repeats.

“For _us_.” John corrects, rejoining them, phone tucked away again, giving Meira a challenging stare. “Not you.”

Meira _doesn’t_ flinch, but only because it’s not really a surprise after the last few days. It still hurts, despite the fact that she doesn’t _like_ John, doesn’t respect him, doesn’t really _care_ whether she can claim relation to _him_ or not. She’s always been proud of her family, of her legacy. She’s an angel, and a hunter, and there is no fight she won’t take on in the name of free will. She _is_ a Winchester, right down to the deepest depths of her stupid grace-soul hybrid mess.

“Yeah.” Meira agrees, and if it comes out bitter, well, so be it. “But if they’re coming for you, they’ll have to get through me first, so.” She shrugs. “Us.”

John doesn’t answer that, just looks to Sam and Dean. “So where’d you find this Max boy?” He asks.

“He’s… one of the other kids this demon went after.” Dean explains, a touch reluctant.

John huffs quietly. “Yeah, Dean, I got that.” He says dryly. “I mean, _how_ did you find him? I tried to track down some of it’s other victims from the last go around, to see if it was going to… go after more people like Jessica.” He flicks a glance at Sam, who grimaces and looks away. “It’s not easy.”

Meira looks between Dean, who looks conflicted, and Sam, who looks reluctant, and decides that if they, with all of their own ‘if it’s different it’s bad’ attitude, are this hesitant to tell John about Sam’s visions, she absolutely does not want to hear this conversation. “Well, I’ve got a bunch of people to call and warn that a demon might be coming to kill them, so I’m going to leave you to it.” She announces.

“Coward.” Dean mutters at her as she passes him.

“Oh, you _want_ me to fight him?” Meira fires back lightly, and Dean grimaces in acknowledgement of her point, and waves her off. Meira ducks out of the motel room.

Behind her, she just hears John ask “What’s going on?” before she deliberately tones down her hearing and heads out into the parking lot to remove even the temptation of eavesdropping. Better for everyone that way.

She pulls out her phone and just starts at the top. She calls _everyone_ , even the people like Will Carlton and Max Jaffrey and Emily Jorgeson and Roy Roberts that she hasn’t spoken to since they met. In her bedtime story, in the version of the past that Meira _hadn’t_ changed, the demon only went after John’s contacts, but Meira can’t be sure if that was because it was aiming specifically for John, or just because Sam and Dean didn’t _have_ any contacts. Because they wouldn’t have, if Meira hadn’t been there reaching out to all these people, drawing them in because she’s _used_ to having a lot of people in her life. She’s used to an immediate family in the double digits and an extended family that triples that number, and that’s not even counting the Batfam.

Not that she regrets it, exactly. She regrets her inability to be there in a hot second if someone needs her, but she doesn’t think it would have been better to isolate herself, to let her dad and her uncle isolate themselves, on the off chance that someone they pissed off might use their friends against them. Better to have a support network than not, in her opinion.

By the time she’s done and she heads back inside, Sam and Dean are just finishing packing up their stuff. “Where are we going?” She asks, even though she already knows the answer. Sam tosses her bag at her, already packed, and she catches it before heading right back out the door she just walked through.

“Salvation, Iowa.” Dean tells her.

Meira snorts. “Oh, the irony.”

* * *

**Lincoln, Nebraska – Sunday 30 th  July 2006 **

It’s already late when they roll through Lincoln, and they swapped driving shifts a couple hours ago, so Sam is sleeping in the back seat while Meira drives. No one said as much, but the fact that Dean had tossed Sam the Impala’s keys and joined John in his truck had been enough of a hint that they were planning on driving through the night to get to Salvation as soon as possible. So Meira is really surprised when Dean indicates off the highway and takes them into the city proper.

Sam must be only dozing, because the shift of driving style, from the monotony of the highway to the stop-start of city traffic, has him sitting up and squinting blearily out of the windshield over Meira’s shoulder. “W’there ‘lready?” He slurs, knuckling at one eye.

“Nope.” Meira tells him, frowning at the back of John’s truck. “We’re in Lincoln right now.”

Sam makes a small sound of consternation. “This is where Caleb lives.” He says after a long moment, in a tone of deep wariness.

Yeah, Meira doesn’t blame him for that. “Somehow, I doubt John just felt like popping in for a chat.” She says, unnecessarily. Sam snorts and doesn’t bother to reply. Soon enough the truck pulls to a stop on a residential street, and Meira brings the Impala to a stop beside it.

“Dad? What’s going on?” Sam asks even before he’s all the way out of the car.

“Caleb sent me a text a couple hours ago.” John informs them, expression tight and unhappy as he rounds to the back of his truck and starts looking through his supplies. “Said he had something for me, but it didn’t read right.” He straightens and tosses a couple of canteens over to the three of them. On opening hers, Meira finds only clean, pure water inside, not that she’s surprised about that. Even without future knowledge, she’d be pretty fucking suspicious about this. “Sam, Dean, check the perimeter, then go in the front. Meira, with me.” He orders.

Meira rolls her eyes, but follows as he heads off down a little walkway between two of the houses. She can’t quite resist asking, though, in incredulous tones; “You _want_ me with you?”

“I want you where I can see you.” John informs her bluntly, turning down the narrow alley at the back of the houses, walled in on both sides by fences. He stops there, eyeing the second-story windows they can see, checking lines of sight, watching for movement.

Meira stares at his back, not exactly surprised by the blatant mistrust, but… something close to it. “You do realise I’ve been alone with Sam and Dean this whole time, right? I haven’t offed them yet.”

John glances back at her, unimpressed by her flippancy, before gesturing for her to precede him down the narrow alley. Meira rolls her eyes again, but goes, even though it makes her nervous. John is clearly half-convinced there are going to be demons here, and Meira wishes desperately she could reach out and _sense_ if there are any in the area, but she can’t, and that makes her feel horribly exposed.

“Maybe I just want to see how a Renaldi does things.” John replies blithely as they walk the length of the alley.

Meira snorts as he turns them around onto the other street to assess those houses from the front. “I’m not a Renaldi. Not even close.” She corrects. John grunts sceptically, but doesn’t continue the conversation until they’ve canvassed the entire street and have turned back into the alleyway behind Caleb’s house. John pauses again to assess the houses from a different angle, but nothing’s changed, there’s no suspicious movement, no hint of demons about to swarm the place.

“Your uncle married one, though.” John says as he approaches a specific back garden, and gestures for Meira to go first again.

At this point, Meira’s basically expecting it. “That’s right.” She says, before taking a couple steps for a running start and bouncing off the opposite fence to vault over the one John had indicated. After a moment, John drops down next to her, eyes focused on the house, but Meira would be very surprises if he wasn’t tracking her in his peripheral vision, too.

“See, that’s interesting, because I happen to know someone who knows the current Renaldi matriarch.” John begins as they climb the back porch steps. When they reach the door, Meira glances at him, eyebrows raised, only to have him nod her towards the door with an expectant look. Meira reminds herself she’s supposed to be playing nice, and drops to her knees to start picking the lock. John crouches down beside her to continue talking in a low murmur. “And, they don’t like to share much about their family, but he was happy to tell me that none of their family-in-law has any adult nieces.”

Meira blinks at the lock, trying to remember if she was ever told anything about Aunt Mia’s family from before she was born. There weren’t very many of them left, if she remembers right. Just Aunt Mia and her grandmother, and… that’s probably it. Oops. “You sure he wasn’t lying to you?” Meira asks casually, forcing herself to keep working on the lock like she’s barely even paying attention to this conversation, like it doesn’t matter to her at all.

“Not that I wouldn’t put it past Joseph to lie to me, but you’re the surer bet, in my book.” John retorts, eyes scanning the room beyond the window like a hawk.

Meira’s hand slips, and she nearly breaks her pick off in the lock, which would be a great thing to do in front of John. Not that she has a thought to spare for that, too busy staring at John in complete shock. “You know _Joe_?” She asks. Just saying the name sends a gentle pang through her. Grief isn’t quite the same, when you can pop by heaven for a visit any time you want, but it’s still a loss. A loss of potential, if nothing else. And Joe only died a couple of years ago, for Meira, but of course, that’s still some thirty-five years into the future yet.

John eyes her for a moment, but doesn’t answer. Just jerks his chin towards the door. “Pay attention.” He orders.

Which, of course, is why John wanted to have this conversation _now_. Meira gives him a hateful look, because she wants to ask _all_ the questions, but she can’t, probably couldn’t even if they had the time, so she goes back to the lock and finishes picking it. She stands back up, tucking her picks back into the seam she hides them in. Aunt Mia had been the one to teach all the kids that trick, Meira remembers fondly, and Joe had been the one to teach her.

Easing the back door open, Meira finds herself in a little hall. She listens intently as she edges into the room, peering around the open doorway into a living room beyond, but there’s only the sound of two well-muffled sets of footsteps. Sam and Dean, sneaking in, Meira assumes. She can’t hear any other movement at all. It’s possible, of course, that Caleb has gone out for some reason, but Meira doubts that. She’s pretty damn sure he’s dead, even if it is a day earlier than it should be.

They sweep through the first floor, checking everything and meeting up in the kitchen, where Sam is standing before a half-ajar door, bent slightly to examine the handle. There’s a dent in the wall, Meira notices, right where the handle would hit if, say, the door was wrenched open with psychic powers without care for how much force was needed.

Sam brushes his fingers over the top of the handle, and then turns, showing them his fingers. There’s a dusting of yellow powder across the pads of his fingers. “Sulphur.” Dean mutters darkly, and Sam nods. John takes the lead, then, heading down the stairs beyond the door, into the basement, first, swiftly followed by Sam, then Meira, then Dean.

“ _Damn it_.” John snarls when he’s only half way down, pausing for a second before hurrying on. When they reach the bottom and Sam and Dean move out of her way, Meira can see why. Caleb is sprawled out at the base of a rack of truly impressive guns, his entire front stained dark with the blood that must have flooded from the gaping slash in his neck.

“Oh, man.” Sam breaths, quietly devastated.

“You think it’s the same demon that went after Pastor Jim?” Dean asks.

“Be a hell of a coincidence if it wasn’t.” John mutters, checking that the rest of the basement is empty before dropping down to kneel beside his friend’s body.

“And there’s no such thing as coincidences.” Meira agrees grimly. John glances up at her briefly, eyes hard and considering, before he looks back at Caleb, and then very carefully closes the man’s eyes. “Was he a Christian?” She asks, which startles the others.

“I don’t know.” Dean says, as if it’s only just occurring to him that it might’ve been a thing _to_ know.

John clears his throat quietly. “Jewish.” He corrects her.

Meira nods. “Well, zekher tzadik livrakha, then.” She says solemnly.

John _almost_ smiles, although it’s bitter and full of grief. Then he gets to his feet, jaw set and eyes hard. “We should get out of here.” He instructs. “We’ve still got work to do, and I don’t care what it takes. This _ends_.”

* * *

**Salvation, Iowa – Monday 31 st  July 2006 **

The reach the town in the dead of night, but that’s hardly enough to slow John down. Hospitals, after all, are open twenty-four seven. They split up and go trawling for information. It’s tedious work, made even more so by the fact that Meira already knows the name of Azazel’s next victim. She’s tempted not to bother, but she once again thinks of what John would say if he found out, which he undoubtedly would, and knuckles down.

A little before dawn, Meira’s phone rings, and it’s Missouri’s name that shows up on the screen. Meira’s breath sticks in her lungs, caught in the sudden surge of dread. She hopes to her granddad that it’s actually Missouri on the other end, and not Megaera.

“Missouri?” Meira asks tentatively.

“Oh, it’s me, honey.” Missouri assures her. She sounds a little breathless, but not overly scared. “Thank you for the warning, by the way, but I would’ve felt that thing coming anyway, believe you me. _Nasty_ thing.”

“She came after you?” Meira asks, closing her eyes on a mixture of relief and guilt.

“Sure did.” Missouri confirms. “Me and Jenny, we’re taking a little road-trip with the kids. I figure it can’t use us to get to you if it can’t find us, hmm?” She explains smugly, and Meira laughs with relief.

“Sound plan.” Meira agrees.

“How are you holding up with all of this going on, anyway?” Missouri asks.

Meira nearly chokes on the sudden resurgence of all her worry and fear and fury and guilt. “I’m scared, Missouri.” She admits.

“Oh, come on now, girl. You know your daddy gets through this just fine, and your uncle, too. You know that. What’s to be scared of?”

“John doesn’t.” Meira tells her, and she can hear Missouri suck in a sharp breath. “And things are already different. Someone who should have died lived, and someone else died early. What if I- what if I get them _killed_ trying to help?”

“Foreknowledge doesn’t do much to help, does it? Just makes you worry in a different direction.” Missouri acknowledges wearily. “But we all have to live with that, you know. Wondering what effect our actions will have on the world. You’ve just got to pick the path you can live with.”

Meira closes her eyes and nods, knuckling away tears. “What sort of person would I be if I didn’t _try_ to save him?” She asks, but she’s not looking for an answer.

Missouri gives her one anyway. “Not yourself.”

It draws a laugh out of Meira, a little choked and watery, but a laugh all the same. “Yeah, I have to _try_ , even though he pisses me the fuck off.” She grouses. Missouri mutters about her foul mouth, and Meira laughs again, even if it dies quicker this time. “That’s the other thing that scares me, though. He doesn’t- he doesn’t trust me.”

“I know, honey, I know.” Missouri assures her. “I tried to tell him, I told him you weren’t a threat to him or his boys, but would he listen to me?” She scoffs sharply. “Stubborn man.”

“What if he convinces Dean and Sam not to trust me, too?” Meira asks, blurting it out in a rush.

“Then they’re bigger fools than I thought they were, and you can just come on down and stay with me until they get their heads back on straight.” Missouri snaps impatiently. “I know they’re your family, honey, and you want to stay with them, but you’re not alone here anymore. You’ve got friends, people in your corner, and you don’t have to put up with it if they hurt you, alright?”

Meira sniffs, smiling despite the tremble in her lower lip. “Alright.” She agrees. “Thanks, Missouri.”

“Anytime, honey. Anytime. Now, you get yourself together, and you go save your granddad.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Somehow, after that, it’s easier to get back to her pointless task, to go through the motions of doing the job until she gets a call from Sam when the hour is creeping towards reasonable to tell her she can stop because he’s found the right family. They reconvene at a motel room to hear the details of Sam’s vision and to plan their ambush of the demon.

“I think we should bring Monica in on it.” Meira says, even though she doubts she’s going to get anywhere.

John gives her a disbelieving stare. “You want to tell her a demon is coming after her child?”

Meira shrugs. “Look, we’ve got a chance, here, admittedly a slim chance, but still a _chance_ to take this demon by surprise, and shoot the motherfucker before he even realises we’re _here_. How’re we going to pull that off if we have to waste time sneaking around trying not to look like perverts stalking a kid?”

“It’ll be even harder to pull off if we put this woman on alert for the crazy men who believe in demons.” John counters.

Which is a good point. Meira acknowledges it with a reluctant jerk of her head and sighs. She wonders, if there’s any chance Monica already knows. After all, Meira knows that the demon made a deal with her grandma, but then again, that might’ve been because it knew she was a hunter and wanted a way past whatever defences she might have up against his kind.

Any more arguments she might make are interrupted when Sam’s phone rings. He glances at it, frowns, and then picks up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Sam.” A flirty female voice replies.

“Who is this?” Sam asks.

“Think real hard, it’ll come to you.” It’s not the voice itself that gives it away for Meira, but the cadence and inflection, and of course, the situation. Sam doesn’t catch on, though, just frowns, and Meira can’t give him a heads up without giving away her own better than normal hearing. “Oh, come on, Sam.” Megaera croons. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already.”

“Not ringing any bells yet, but you’re not exactly giving me a lot to go on.” Sam points out.

“Sam, I’m hurt.” Megaera protests, without much sincerity, and something like dawning recognition finally flashes across Sam’s face. “It’s Meg.”

“That’s not _your_ name.” Sam retorts. Dean and John’s heads come up at that, wary.

“Oh, but it is.” Megaera replies. “Or, close enough to count, anyway. I wonder though, Sam, if you’ll recognise these voices a little quicker.” She goes on, and then Meira’s stomach drops through the floor when a garble of three _painfully_ familiar voices ring through the phone.

“Sam? It’s a demon, it-”

“-sorry, I swear I didn’t-”

“-wants something from you-”

Charlie. Matt. And Ben.

Sam’s face drains of colour, and Dean steps forward to grab his shoulder in alarm, giving him a little shake. “Meg, don’t hurt them, don’t you _dare_ -” Sam says, sharp and thick, and Dean stiffens. John gets to his feet sharply.

“You’re in no position to be making demands, Sam.” Megaera says coldly. “Now, put your dad on the phone.” She orders.

Sam opens his mouth, swallows, and tries. “My dad? I don’t know where he-”

Charlie screams.

It’s loud enough for them all to hear it.

“Charlie!” Sam calls out, unable to help himself.

“Next time, I’ll put the knife in her throat, not her thigh.” Megaera says conversationally, like she’s commenting on the weather. An instant later, though, her tone turns sharp and cold, an unyielding command. “Put. Your dad. On the phone. Sam.”

Sam wordlessly holds the phone out to his dad. John takes it. “This is John.” He greets.

“Howdy, John.” Megaera says cheerfully. “I’m Megaera, but you can call me Meg. I’m a friend of your boys. I’m also the one who watched Caleb Black choke on his own blood. Did you enjoy your surprise?” She asks, gloating.

“I’m going to kill you.” John swears. “You know that?”

“Watch your tone, Johnny-boy.” Megaera croons, low and threatening. “You wouldn’t want me to take _offence_ -” There’s another, gut-wrenching scream. Megaera keeps talking right over it like it’s nothing more than background music. “-at that, would you?”

“I don’t know who you’ve got there, but they have nothing to do with this. You let them go.” John snaps out.

“Oh, your boys didn’t tell you?” Megaera asks, light and wickedly amused. “These kids here are their little protégés. Quite the little army they’ve been building while you’ve been gone. And they’re good, you know, learning fast, but they’re still _very_ young, John.” She sighs dramatically. “They weren’t my first choice, I’ll admit. You’re a hard man, I admire that about you, I do, and this isn’t quite the soft spot I was aiming for, but… do think of your boys, John. You wouldn’t want them to get reckless with grief over their little kids, would you?”

“What do you want?” John demands.

“What do you think?” Megaera retorts. “The Colt, John. We know you have it.”

John swallows, glancing over at Sam and Dean, who both look pale and shaken, jaws set but fear creeping into their gazes despite their best efforts. He grits his teeth, visibly warring with himself, and almost jumps when there’s another scream from a different voice. Sam and Dean start, too, Dean actually lurching forwards half a step as if he might be able to reach Matt through the phone. “I’m waiting, Johnny.” Megaera says lightly. “Better answer before the buzzer.”

“Okay.” John grits out.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” Megaera gloats.

“I said okay. I’ll bring you the Colt.” John says, more firmly.

Megaera hums contentedly. “Why don’t you come meet me in Chicago, for old times sake, huh?” She asks, and Meira can hear the grin in her voice as she rattles off an address. “I’ll see you there tonight, and then you can whisk your little grand-apprentices off to safety once we have the gun.”

John scoffs. “Sure.” He agrees, clearly not believing her for a second. “It’s going to take me a couple days to get there, though. I can’t carry the Colt on a god damned plane.”

“Midnight tonight, Johnny-boy. Don’t be late.” Megaera warns. “And don’t bring your boys.”

She hangs up, and John slowly lowers the phone. Meira finally allows herself to move, and sits down carefully on the end of one of the beds, raising shaking hands to cover her face. “Charlie?” John questions, in a voice that rasps.

“We saved her from a mirror-bound ghost back at the beginning of the year.” Meira tells him in a voice that wavers. “She was bold as brass, and full of questions.” She shrugs helplessly. “So I answered them.”

“And the other one?” John asks.

“Two.” Sam corrects. “Matt and Ben.”

“Haley’s _brother_ , Ben?” Dean asks sharply, and Sam nods miserably.

“She mentioned he was going on a road trip to visit Matt and Charlie.” Meira adds.

“Ben was the brother that got taken by the wendigo?” John checks.

“No, that was Tommy. Ben is the youngest brother.” Sam corrects.

“And Matt we saved from a Native American death curse.” Meira tells him. “He also helped us kill a Tulpa.” She remembers fondly.

“Shit.” Sam swears, and scrubs both his hands over his face, before running them back through his hair and looking to his dad as though he has to have all the answers. Meira experiences a single pang of jealousy before she dismisses the feeling with an inward roll of her eyes. That’s not fair, and she knows it. “What’re we going to do?”

“Well, _I’m_ going to Chicago.” John informs him.

“What?” Dean asks sharply, worried.

“It doesn’t look like we have a choice. If I don’t go, these kids die.” John points out, and Meira flinches. No one notices. Sam’s too busy protesting the idea of loosing the gun, and John’s too busy explaining his bait-and-switch plan, and Dean is too busy poking holes.

They go and buy a fake Colt, Meira and Dean, while John and Sam double check their weapons stashes and make sure everything’s ready. Meira stays quiet, wrestling with what she _wants_ to do, and what she knows she needs to. Dean throws her a few worried looks, but doesn’t ask, so Meira doesn’t explain. At least, not until they’re back with Sam and John.

“You get it?” John asks without preamble, and Dean hands over the gun they bought.

“You know this is a trap, don’t you?” Dean asks as John checks over the fake Colt.

“That’s why I’m going, too.” Meira says, even though just saying the words makes her stomach turn. She gets three incredulous stares for her troubles, and she stares back, level and solemn.

“Meg told me to come alone.” John points out.

Meira smiles grimly. “No, she said not to bring your boys. Do I look like one of your boys?” She asks.

John’s eyes narrow faintly. “She did, didn’t she?” He asks slowly.

Meira isn’t exactly surprised to see the suspicion back in his eyes, but she has no idea what to do about it. “Look, I can’t- This is my fault.” She explains, crossing her arms uncomfortably and looking away, unable to hold anyone’s gaze right now. “I’m the reason Charlie and Matt and Ben are in this mess, I’m the one that got them involved and _kept_ them involved. And-” She chokes on the words. She doesn’t want to admit this, it comes too close to all the things she doesn’t want to tell Sam and Dean and _especially_ John, but if they haven’t noticed by themselves yet, they’re going to eventually. She’s honestly surprised they _haven’t_ brought it up. “And it’s my fault this demon is even still _here_ , damn it.” She blurts out. “I fucked up the exorcism.”

“What?” Sam asks, frowning at her.

Dean, though, Dean doesn’t look surprised or confused at all. “You didn’t say the first part.” He recalls. “You got her out of Meg, but you didn’t send her back to Hell.”

Meira nods miserably. “I wasn’t thinking.” That part, at least, is the truth. She’d been thinking of Crowley, of her family and friends and the demons that had scraped together a semblance of care. She’d been so focused on what Meg _could be_ she’d completely ignored what she _is_ . But she can’t say that, can’t possibly ever admit to thinking demons aren’t entirely and universally terrible or she’s probably going to get shot right here and now. So she lies. “I was so wrapped up in wanting to test whether what you said had worked that I-” She gives a bitter laugh. “I forgot to wonder what would happen if it _didn’t_.”

“ _Damn it_ , Meira!” Dean bursts out.

Meira hunches in on herself, staring down at the muddy road beneath her feet. “Yeah.” She agrees, then looks up, first at Dean, then at John. “Let me help fix this.” She says, although it’s more of a plea than she wants it to be.

“I should say no, just on _principle_.” John tells her through gritted teeth. But then he snorts, darkly amused. “But I’d rather have you where I can see you, so.” Unspoken, but very clear, is the implication that he does not trust her to be around his sons, especially not at a crucial moment like this. He jerks his head towards the truck. “Get in the car.” He orders. Meira grits her teeth at the order, but goes.

She’s a little surprised when, after exchanging farewells with his dad, Dean comes around to the passenger side of the truck, and knocks on the window until Meira opens the door and turns in the seat to face him. Dean gives her a searching, perturbed look that makes Meira feel horribly small and alone. “Look, I _want_ to trust you, okay, so, just… You watch his back, okay?” He requests. “You don’t have to like him, or even trust him, but he’s my dad, and I’m gonna be _pissed_ if he gets hurt on your watch.”

Meira stares up at him, aching like she’s being torn in two, and musters up a smile that _hurts_. “I know what it’s like to lose a father, Dean.” She says, and in that moment, it’s the most painfully honest thing she’s ever said. “I wouldn’t wish that on you, no matter what I think of the father in question. I’ll keep him safe, no matter what.” She promises.

Dean nods, hesitates, then reaches out and claps a hand to her shoulder. “Yourself, too.” He says.

“If I can.” Meira promises.

Dean obviously notices the difference in those two promises, but he doesn’t call her on it. Doesn’t question it. Doesn’t tell her that her priorities are fucked up. That hurts worst of all, and Meira’s so, so glad when Dean doesn’t say anything else, just gives her shoulder a squeeze before walking away. It means she can turn to face the windshield again and pretend she’s not on the verge of tears.

John gets into the driver’s seat, and starts the car without so much as looking at her. They don’t say a word until they’ve been on the road for almost an hour. “You know.” John begins. “You’re _damn_ good liar, and a better actress, but I’m _not_ buying it.”

“Yeah, I figured that much out for myself, thanks.” Meira replies tiredly, staring out the window.

“So what _are_ you?” John demands, and Meira flinches before she can muster the energy to resist that instinctive reaction. She doesn’t even like John Winchester all that much, barely counts the man as family when _this_ is the only way she’s ever known him, but… But he _is_ family, and hearing that question from _family_ is exactly as gutting as she always imagined it would be.

Meira turns to smile at him, a bullshit smile that isn’t even pretending to be sincere. “An abomination. Ask anybody.” She tells him.

“That’s not an answer.” John says.

Meira scoffs at him, and goes back to staring out of the window. “It’s the answer you want.”

“I want the truth.” John retorts.

“Well, then you asked the wrong question, asshole.” Meira snaps.

John doesn’t immediately reply to that, but Meira doesn’t look to see what his reaction is. Just waits, feeling like a sulky brat but too spiteful to stop. She _hates_ that question, hates that attitude, and she hates John Winchester. “Are you working for this demon?” John asks eventually.

Well, that question is at least easy to answer. She turns to regard John again, and he glances over at her when he feels the weight of her stare. She meets his gaze very deliberately. “No.” She says simply, and then hikes one side of her mouth up in a wry little smirk. “And that’s God’s honest truth.”

John turns his attention back to the road with a little grunt, although whether it’s sceptical or accepting, Meira can’t actually tell. “Why didn’t you exorcise Meg properly, then?” John asks next.

That’s a much harder question to answer truthfully, but Meira gives it her best shot. “I wasn’t thinking of the consequences.”

John scoffs derisively and lapses into silence, and they don’t speak again for the whole drive.

* * *

**Chicago, Illinois – Monday 31 st  July 2006 **

They arrive at the address Megaera gave them, which turns out to be an abandoned warehouse in the middle of a run down industrial yard, several hours early. John doesn’t stop, though, just keeps driving around the place. Scouting it, Meira realises once they start crossing their own path. “You think they’re already in there?” She asks.

“Doubt it.” John replies. “They know better than to give me that kind of advantage.”

Eventually he parks. “Come on.” He orders, and together, they scout the place on foot, too. Meira has no idea what John’s looking for, exactly, but she does her best to pay attention. Angelic memory means she’s not going to forget a detail, but that only works if she’s paying enough attention to remember it in the first place.

John goes so far as to scout the _rooftops_ , which Meira is kind of surprised by, before she reminds herself that John Winchester scares demons for a reason, and it’s not because he’s a sloppy hunter. And the rooftops are a good vantage point for watching when Megaera arrives. Meira honestly didn’t think this situation could get worse, but of course it can, because Megaera is wearing Donna as she hauls a bound and gagged Charlie out of the trunk of a car by her hair. There’s another demon with her, possessing an older man, dragging Matt and Ben out of the back seat of the car.

Meira is so distracted by cursing herself that she doesn’t even protest when John grabs her and drags her behind cover. She just hunkers down and closes her eyes against the self-recrimination welling up under her breastbone. “I take it you recognise those two?” John asks.

“Just the girl. Charlie’s friend, Donna. Her dad was the ghost’s first vicitm.” Meira explains shortly.

John doesn’t reply to that, just checks around the side of the cistern they’re hidden behind, and then, after several minutes of silently watching, hauls himself out of hiding and begins to climb the thing. Meira stares after him, nonplussed, until the chanting starts. Understanding flashes through her like a bolt of lightning, and she starts to laugh.

When John climbs back down, he gives her a sideways look, and some of Meira’s mirth dies. “What? I’ve always appreciated a good prank.” She says defensively.

“Prank.” John echoes, sounding almost offended.

Meira rolls her eyes. “Trick, then. Learn to take a compliment, dude.”

John doesn’t reply to that, either.

* * *

**Chicago, Illinois – Tuesday 1 st  August 2006 **

Ten minutes later, it’s go time. Meira walks into the warehouse first, because John refused to have her at his back, and when Megaera steps out of the shadows, she looks, momentarily, surprised. “Meira.” She says, and it’s jarring, to hear Megaera’s tone and inflections in Donna’s voice. Then she looks past her, and the surprise fades into smugness. “John.”

“Where are the kids?” Meira asks.

“Oh, they’re here.” Megaera assures her, tipping her head towards a doorway.

“I wanna see ‘em.” John insists.

Megaera tuts at him. “That’s not how this works, Johnny-boy. You give us the gun, and _then_ we let you take your little baby hunters. Hand it over.”

“Because demons always keep their word, huh?” John asks rhetorically. There’s a click, and Meira glances over to see him pointing the fake Colt at Megaera. “Let me see that they’re still alive, and _then_ you get the gun.” He instructs.

Megaera eyes him for a long moment, then smirks. “You know it won’t make any difference, if you shoot me, right? There’s hundreds of us, and you can’t kill us all.”

“No, but we _can_ send you all back to Hell.” Meira counters. Megaera’s eyes flash to her, and her head cocks, eyes narrowing. “And if you ask me, that’s the worse fate.”

Megaera stares at her, unmoving, for a very long time, then she tips her head the other way and calls out, “Bring them through, Tom.” There’s a pause, and then what sounds like a scuffle, and then the other demon drags Ben and Matt through a doorway nearly entirely shrouded in shadows. He tosses Matt forwards, and he rolls across the floor limply, leaving streaks of blood behind from his wounds. He’s pale and unconscious, but Ben is fighting the demon’s hold, teeth bared and eyes wild.

Tom throws Ben forwards, too, and he rolls right into Matt as the demon disappears back the way he came. A moment later, Tom returns with Charlie, who’s not fighting, but very clearly conscious despite the injuries she’s suffered. “Hey, Charlie.” Meira greets, putting on a show of nonchalance. Charlie replies with something that’s too muffled to understand around the gag in her mouth, but Meira gets the gist of it just fine.

“Alright, you’ve seen them. The gun. Now.” Megaera orders, holding out her hand.

John hands it over. “This is the Colt?” Megaera checks, and John nods. Megaera looks over to her fellow demon, and he comes over to join her in examining the gun.

Meira takes the opportunity to skirt around the stand off and go to start untying Ben. She’s aware of eyes on her, but no one tries to stop her, so she ignores them. “Hey, hey, calm down.” She says to Ben, who’s still wriggling against the ropes, but with less frantic desperation. “I’m gonna get you free, just hold still a sec.” Ben swallows, but obeys.

The sudden bang of a shot being fired has Meira jerking her head up in alarm, but John looks fine, if a little startled. Then Charlie screams a denial around her gag, and Meira sees that it’s Megaera, it’s _Donna_ with the bloody hole in her side. “You shot me!” Megaera yelps indignantly. “I can’t believe you just _shot me_.”

“You can’t?” Meira asks before she can stop herself. Megaera rounds on her, and Meira just looks back, eyebrows raised, trying not to let on that she’s desperately trying to work out Donna’s chances of surviving that wound if Meira exorcises Megaera. “You’re _demons_ , sweetheart. Callousness and betrayal are pretty much to be expected, aren’t they?”

Megaera scoffs at her, but before she can actually answer, Tom tosses the gun aside with a clatter, declaring “It’s a fake,” and Meira sees realisation dawn on Megaera’s face.

She rounds on John. “Oh.” She says, dark and unamused. “You’re dead, John. Your boys are dead.”

“I would have thought you’d be grateful.” Meira interjects, and the demons pause in their advance on John. “After all, if it _wasn’t_ a fake, you’d be dead right now.” Meira offers up a false grin and doesn’t so much as blink as she holds Megaera’s gaze. “So, if you think about it, you owe John Winchester your life.” Megaera’s face contorts with disgust and rage.

Ben’s bindings finally come free, and he immediately reaches up and tugs the gag out of his mouth before rolling over and checking on Matt. “I don’t think so.” Tom announces, and Meira sees the flash of silver just in time to throw herself on top of Ben, flattening him on top of Matt. Pain bites deep into her shoulder, and she grits her teeth on a cry. “You didn’t hold up your end of the deal, so why should we?” He asks, smug and cruel.

The whole situation has gone to hell, and Meira has no idea how she’s supposed to protect _everyone_ , but she has to try, so she looks up, shaking her ponytail out of her face. “Niiso il Onsa-” She begins, only to have an invisible force wrap tight around her throat, choking her.

“Sorry,” Megaera says, and she actually sounds something close to sincere, “but I can’t let you do that.”

Tom laughs, and another knife appears in his hand. “You take care of these loose ends, and I’ll make Winchester pay.” He says to her, and Megaera glances at him with a smirk and a nod.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” John calls, and the demons whip around. The force holding Meira still vanishes, and she draws in a breath that rasps all the way down and makes her cough even as her grace flares under her skin to heal any damage that had been done. It’s not enough to distract her from the alarm that suddenly blares through the building. A fire alarm.

Megaera laughs incredulously. “What’s that supposed to-”

The sprinklers come on, and the demons _scream_.

Meira laughs as she hauls herself up and starts untying Charlie, who looks to her with wide, wet eyes that kills Meira’s laughter at once. “That wasn’t a killing shot.” She tells her quietly, under the sounds of screaming and splashing as the demons retreat from the rain of holy water. “As long as we can get her to a hospital quickly once she’s been exorcised, she’ll be okay.” Charlie stares at her for a moment, then nods, expression firming up.

John splashes over to them, grinning, just as Meira gets Charlie free. She tugs the gag out of her mouth and tries to get to her feet, but collapses with a cry the moment she tries to put weight on her injured leg. John grabs her before she can hit the floor.

“Matt’s not waking up.” Ben says, ruthlessly suppressed panic lacing his voice.

“I’ll carry him, you help Charlie.” Meira instructs, turning to scoop Matt up. “That way, John can keep his hands free in case the demons come back.” This time, John leads the way, while Ben supports Charlie, and Meira carries Matt. She hates it. Hates having her arms occupied and her back exposed and her grace bound. Hates that the only thing she can do is hope that she’s changed enough that they might be able to escape.

When they get back to the truck, though, it’s to find that the tyres have been slashed. “Damn it.” John curses, glancing around for another escape route.

“The demons came here in a car.” Meira points out.

John glances at her, then nods. “Good idea.” He turns and heads towards where they saw the demons park. The car is right where the demons left it, and Ben gets the back door open, letting Charlie shuffle in while he turns to grab Matt and John jogs for the driver’s door. He gets his hand on the handle before an invisible force hurls him away from it and pins him up against the wall. Meira is already speaking as she turns, looking for the demons. “Niiso il-”

Again, she feels something clamp down on her throat. “Ah-ah-ah.” Tom chides, slinking out of the darkness. “None of that now.”

If Meira’s grace wasn’t bound, it would be _easy_ to throw off his hold, _child’s play_ , but as it is, it’s all she can do to keep it from crushing her windpipe. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Ben hesitating, and shoots him a glare. Threading grace through her throat and her voice, she orders “ _Go!”_ and Ben leaps to obey, scrambling through the passenger side door and across into the driver’s seat.

Tom raises a hand towards the car. “Do it, and I finish what I started.” Meira threatens.

“You really care about them, don’t you?” Megaera asks, coming to stand beside Tom, one hand outstretched towards John but otherwise perfectly at ease as she studies Meira with a hint of a frown. Meira glares back and tries to wrench out of Tom’s hold. She can’t move at all. Her grace can heal any damage done by the psychic force, but it can’t combat it outside her body. “Oh, well, I suppose we don’t need them any more, anyway.” Megaera sighs, smiling over at John as Ben screeches out onto the road and the car disappears around a corner. “We have all the leverage we need, now.”

Meira opens her mouth to attempt another exorcism, but then hesitates. She needs to learn to think things through before she acts. If she exorcises Megaera now, there’s no way to get Donna to a hospital in time to save her, and John isn’t going to die here and now. John might get possessed, but he’ll survive it.

Of course, if she does nothing now, John will never trust her again. But that’s… that’s just her being selfish again, isn’t it? Wanting to put her own hopes above other people’s lives. She doesn’t _need_ John to trust her. She just needs to stop that one car crash, and she can do that whether John trusts her or not. Then she’ll just… go stay with Missouri until the apocalypse starts and she can go find Lucifer and make him take the binding off her grace.

So she closes her mouth, even though she knows she’s going to lose what’s left of her family because of this. And if she’s going to lose them anyway, she might as well go the whole hog and see if she can’t get Megaera and Tom to let their guard down around her. “Hey, so, mind letting me go, now?” She asks lightly, waving a hand at her throat. “It’s not like you’re _actually_ stopping me from speaking, you realise.”

Tom blinks at her, then smirks and lets her go. “Done playing the good little hunter?” Megaera asks, grinning. “I thought you didn’t want to blow your cover?”

Meira shrugs and tucks her hands into her pockets. “If you think there’s anything I could’ve done to get John Winchester to _trust_ me, you’re delusional.” She says.

“I knew it.” John snarls.

“Yeah, yeah.” Meira sighs, refusing to look at him. “So, what’s the plan?”


	10. The Symbol of the Living God

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota – Tuesday 1 st  August 2006 **

Meira blinks up at the sign over the driveway Megaera is leading her up, caught. Megaera looks back at her, then up at the sign. “Something wrong?” She asks warily.

“No, no.” Meira says quickly, hiding a grimace. “It’s just… I’ve heard of Bobby Singer.” She explains, gesturing at the ‘Singer Salvage’ sign as she passes under it. It’s even the truth, if not in the way Megaera’s going to take it. Unlike John Winchester, who her dad hadn’t really talked about all that much, Bobby had been mentioned a lot. It makes her feel a little bit sick, knowing that she’s probably not going to have a chance to get to know him properly.

Megaera hums. “You think he’s going to be trouble?” She wonders.

Meira snorts, because the answer is _yes_ , but she’s not going to tell _Megaera_ that. “All hunters are trouble.” She counters, and Megaera snickers.

As they get closer to the house, a Rottweiler basking in the sun on the hood of a truck picks his head up and starts barking at them. Megaera makes a disgusted noise and raises a hand. “Oh, don’t hurt the puppy.” Meira says before she can stop herself.

Megaera gives her an incredulous look. “Don’t tell me you _like_ dogs?”

“Well, they’re not hellhounds, but…” Meira trails off with a shrug.

Megaera rolls her eyes, distaste clear in every line of Donna’s face, and then she gestures at the dog, and his head drops onto his front paws. “Happy?” She asks, vaguely resentful. Meira looks sideways at her, confused and sad and hardly daring to hope.

“Thank you.” She says lightly.

Megaera shrugs and looks away, uncomfortable. “Don’t mention it.” She practically begs, then heads for the door of the house. “Ready?” She asks.

“Make it look good.” Meira orders, and Megaera grins, before grabbing Meira by the hair and dragging her forwards, her other hand bringing a knife up to Meira’s neck, and Meira goes with it. The door bangs open like it was kicked, and Megaera strides inside, dragging Meira with her.

“Meira!” Dean shouts.

“Holy shit, Donna!” Sam bursts out, surging to his feet from where he was sitting at a desk, pouring through dusty old books. At his side stands a man that can only be Bobby Singer, grey-haired and rough, wearing a ball cap and a scruffy beard. Meira remembers the soul she met in heaven a couple of times, and tries to picture what it might look like now, shining out from under this man’s skin, no longer static and unchanging in heaven’s grasp. She wishes, not for the first time and probably not for the last, that she could _see_ it, instead of just having to imagine it.

“I’m done screwing around, boys.” Megaera informs them. Dean tries to charge her, what looks like a flask in one hand, but Megaera doesn’t even need to gesture to fling him across the room into a stack of books. “I want the Colt, Sam.” She instructs, and the knife digs into Meira’s neck just hard enough to draw blood. “The _real_ Colt. Give it to me, or I’m going to make you _watch_ as I peel pieces off of your little friend here.”

Sam backs away, dragging Bobby with him. “We don’t have it on us.” Sam deflects.

Megaera yanks Meira’s head up and back. “Didn’t I just say I was _done_ screwing around?” She reminds him. “I swear-” She begins, disgusted, shaking her head and stalking after Sam, dragging Meira along with her. Meira does her best to stagger convincingly. “After everything I heard about you Winchesters, I’ve gotta tell you, I’m a little underwhelmed.” Meira’s so tempted to make a sex joke right now, but she manages to keep her mouth shut and let Megaera monologue about the Winchesters’ many and varied failures. “I mean, did you really think I wouldn’t _find you_?”

“Actually,” Dean growls from behind them. “We were counting on it.”

Meira takes that as her cue to drive her head back into Megaera’s face, and when she yelps and flinches, wrenching out of her hold, away from the knife, but not quite fast enough to keep it from scoring a shallow line across her neck. Megaera tries to grab for her again as she dives forwards, but while Meira moves unimpeded to Sam’s side, where he catches her, Megaera has stopped like she’s run into a wall.

She looks down, then up, sees the intricate and powerful devil’s trap on the ceiling, and drops her gaze back to Meira, full of shock and betrayal. “Meira?” Sam asks, holding her by the arms. “Are you okay?” Meira nods wordlessly. “What about Charlie, Matt, Ben?”

“The kids are alive.” Meira assures Sam. “We got them out before we got captured.”

“Where’s Dad?” Dean adds.

“They took him to Jefferson City.”

“He’s alive?” Dean presses urgently.

Meira nods quickly. “Last I saw him.”

A little of the urgent tension leaks out of everyone in the room. “So, you must be Meira Novak.” Bobby says into the ensuing silence.

Meira turns to him and holds out a hand, unable to keep from smiling. “And you must be Bobby Singer. It’s an honour.” She offers. Bobby’s eyebrows come together even as he shakes her hand with a strong grip.

“An _honour_? What you been smoking?” He demands gruffly. Meira just laughs, and even Sam manages a small chuckle. Only Dean isn’t amused, too focused on Meg to pay attention to the byplay.

“Alright, _Meg_ , tell us what’s in Jefferson City.” He orders.

“Why should I?” Megaera demands bitterly. “There’s nothing I want that you’re prepared to offer me, and, offence fully intended, Dean, but there’s nothing you could do to me that I haven’t been through ten times worse before.” She leans back against the far wall of the devil’s trap, arms crossed, which has the bizarre effect of making her look like she’s lounging on thin air, and a _nasty_ smile spreads across her face as she fixes her eyes on Meira. “Why don’t you ask your little _spy_?”

“Spy?” Bobby asks.

Megaera’s eyes flash with something like triumph. “You didn’t know she’s been playing both sides?” She asks innocently, pushing up off the barrier again and stalking forwards. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Meira. After all, isn’t betrayal to be _expected_ with my kind?” She croons through a sneer.

Meira takes a deep breath, and reminds herself she knew this was coming, if maybe not this soon. “Yeah, and I don’t know why I hoped you’d be better than that, but I did anyway.” Meira tells her coldly, and Megaera’s eyes widen slightly. “She’s right.” She adds to the other hunters in the room, even though she doesn’t take her eyes off Megaera. “There is nothing we can do to her that’s worse than Hell, and certainly not without killing Donna, so unless you’re willing to promise not to send her back downstairs, which, by the way _Megaera_ , there’s another thing you owe me for-” Meira points out, and Megaera looks away sharply. “-there’s no point in trying to threaten her or bribe her.”

“What the _fuck_ is going on here?” Dean demands, looking between Meira and Megaera.

Meira shrugs, not quite able to look at him, so she keeps her eyes locked on Megaera. “She thought I would be willing to help her. I let her believe that to see if I could get anything out of her.”

“You’re saying that whole-” Dean waves his hand back towards the door Megaera busted down when she made her entrance. “-was just for show?”

“A double-bluff?” Bobby wonders dryly.

“Yeah, basically.” Meira confirms. “And, uh, we should probably call an ambulance before we exorcise her.” She adds on. “She got shot earlier, and it didn’t look like it’d be immediately fatal, but… Donna’s going to need medical attention once Megaera’s not holding her together anymore.”

Bobby nods. “Right.” He agrees, and goes to get the phone. Five minutes later he’s back again. “Ambulance is on its way, so we’d better get this over with.”

Meira nods and opens her mouth, but Dean holds up a hand to stop her. “I think we’re going to be doing this the tried and tested way, just to be sure.” He tells her, and Meira can’t help the flinch at the mistrust implicit in that statement.

She looks down and away and tries to remind herself that she _knew_ this was coming. Megaera scoffs, catching everyone’s attention, but her eyes are on Meira, and they’re showing nothing but disgusted disbelief. “You really are on their side, aren’t you?” She asks. “ _Why_?”

Meira considers that, wonders what the hell she can say to that. “Because I’m human.” She answers eventually, and offers Megaera a cold smile. “And whatever else I am or become, I’m a sentient, sapient, empathic person first and foremost, and I will never forget that. Not like you have.” Megaera flinches, and Meira’s smile shades towards pitying. “You might want to try and remember, though. Loyalty like yours is admirable, and it should be given to someone who deserves it. Not someone who’s going to turn on you the minute they’ve gotten what they wanted.”

“You mean like you?” Megaera hisses.

Meira gives her a hard, chiding look for that. “You hurt people, Megaera. You hurt _my_ people.”

“Enough chit-chat, time’s a-wasting.” Bobby interrupts before Megaera can say anything to that, and Sam begins reading out an exorcism. Half way through, Megaera begins screaming. Meira won’t let herself look away, but she wants to. She feels stupidly _guilty_ about this, but she focuses on Donna’s face and reminds herself of what Megaera had done with her mercy last time.

Donna’s head snaps back on the last word of the exorcism, and black smoke comes streaming out on one last scream. Her body crumples, and Meira lunges forward to catch her, lowering her to the ground slowly, and immediately putting pressure on the bullet wound in her side. Donna makes a strangled sound, and her hands come up to grab clumsily at Meira. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Meira assures her.

Donna makes a miserable sound and shakes her head. “Charlie-” She chokes out.

“She’ll be fine.” Meira assures her, even though she can’t actually say that with any certainty. She makes a mental note to call Charlie once Donna’s in the ambulance just to make sure.

“I should’ve- should’ve listened. Tell- tell her- I’m s-sorry.”

“You can tell her yourself once you’re better.” Sam says, joining Meira on the floor.

“Here.” Bobby says, and Meira looks up to see him holding out a dark blue towel. Meira takes it and uses it to help stem the bleeding.

“She- she gave me- thought it was just- stupid charm- Should’ve w-worn it.” Donna stutters out.

“Charm?” Sam asks.

“Anti-possession charm.” Meira says for Donna, since there really isn’t anything else it could be. Sam _stares_ at her, incredulous, and Meira stares back, feeling like an idiot. “You didn’t know about them.” She realises. It’s so stupid, how she can still forget that she’s _in the past_ . She’s just so used to her family being warded up with every anti-possession sigil out there that it hadn’t occurred to her even when she’d been _teaching them_ how to draw _devil’s traps_.

“I’ll show you what they look like later.” Meira promises.

Then the paramedics turn up and bundle Donna off, and Bobby and Meira build lies off each other about what happened until the questions stop. “Right.” Bobby says once the four of them have the house to themselves again. “You boys best be getting off to find your dad.”

“Jefferson City is a trap.” Meira tells them, and they all turn to look at her. “I didn’t want to say in front of Megaera because I wasn’t sure if she realised I knew, but… They’re planning to have the demon possess your dad to get the Colt off you.”

“Balls.” Bobby grumbles.

“How’d you find out about that if Meg didn’t tell you?” Dean asks, tone belligerent.

Meira grits her teeth and refuses to let the hurt take root. This isn’t her dad, and it doesn’t mean anything that he doesn’t trust her. “I eavesdropped.” She says simply, not looking at anyone as she wracks her memory for anything else her dad had mentioned in his stories. “They’re holed up in some place called Sunrise Apartments, by the river.” She looks around, then crosses over to the kitchen, where there’s a ragged little notebook and an old chewed on biro sitting by the phone. She picks up the pen and begins sketching. It’s not hard, she knows these lines perfectly well, and with grace in her muscles she can shape them precisely.

It’s such a simple symbol, in the end, she thinks, looking at it. The star of the soul, surrounded by protective flames. Similar in nature, really, to threshold magic. The most basic warding, but with all the power of a human soul to back it up; _Thou shalt not trespass here._ She sketches out a couple of variations. The pentagram is the most common, but she draws one with the Star of David as well, the Aquarian Star, the Auseklis.

“Here.” She says, and holds it out to Dean. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of it earlier.” She pauses, swallows, and then offers Dean a rueful, knowing smile as he takes the notepad. “I’m sure Bobby’ll be able to verify for you.”

“Meira…” Dean says, resigned and half way to apologetic.

“Don’t, Dean.” Meira cuts him off before he can just make her feel worse with half-hearted words of placation.

Bobby looks between them, before snatching the notebook out of Dean’s hand and looking the page over. His eyebrows jump up. “I think I got a couple charms like this somewhere.” He says finally. “Let me see if I can dig them up.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” Dean says, and then sighs. “And they’ll do what she says they’ll do?”

Bobby gives him a long look, then shrugs. “They’re protection charms, and given they’ve got a basic devil’s trap at the heart, I wouldn’t be surprised if they do exactly what she said. I’ll do some research, though, and get back to you if you need more’n that.”

“No, that’s- we’re good.” Dean says sheepishly.

Bobby nods once, then disappears into his study. He leaves a very awkward silence in his wake. “So.” Sam says after a whole minute of steadily creeping tension. “Where did you learn about these anti-possession sigils?”

Meira laughs. It’s not a happy sound. “It was a right of passage in my family, getting your anti-possession tattoo. My aunt probably learned from her grandma.”

“And your dad and uncle learned from your aunt?” Sam questions, tone light and curious, but Meira knows an interrogation when she hears one.

She cocks her head and pretends to think about it. “Now you mention it, probably not.” She muses.

“No?” Sam prompts.

“They have different types. Had. My aunt had the Aquarian Star version, my dad and uncle had the Pentagram version.” Meira explains.

“And the rest of your family?” Sam asks.

Meira rolls her eyes. “Me and Jace both got the Pentagram.” Lie. They’re angels, they don’t need more than the grace of their souls to keep unwanted trespassers out. “Rob got the Aquarian Star. Kind of a family legacy thing.” Truth.

“Rob? Is that your… cousin?” Sam asks. Meira hums a confirmation.

Thankfully, Bobby returns then, holding out a pair of charms. “Here you go. I’ve only got the two, though. Sorry.” He says to Meira.

“I’m good. I’ve got my own.” She tells him. It’s kind of half true.

Bobby grunts at her. “And here, take this, too. You might need it.” He says to Sam, offering up his copy of the Key of Solomon. Sam and Dean both thank him. “You boys just get your dad back in one piece.” Bobby instructs. “And when you do, you bring him around, would you? I won’t even try to shoot him this time.” He promises.

Meira nearly chokes on her laughter. “You tried to shoot him?” She asks, amused despite herself.

Bobby snorts. “Yeah, I heard you don’t exactly get on with him, either.” Meira shrugs an acknowledgement, and after a moment, Bobby just huffs and ushers them all out of his house. They go, piling into the Impala, and they hit the road heading south. Once they’re on their way and it’s clear Sam and Dean aren’t going to be restarting their interrogation, Meira pulls out her phone and calls Charlie. It takes six heart-stopping rings before she picks up.

“Meira?”

“Charlie.” Meira greets. “Are you guys doing okay?”

“Yeah.” Charlie assures her, although her voice is tight and a little high. “Matt’s awake now. A little woozy, still, but okay. What about- Do you know what happened to- to Donna?” She asks, and her voice cracks slightly on her friend’s name.

“We exorcised her. She’s on her way to the hospital in Sioux Falls.” Meira informs her. “She told us to tell you she’s sorry for not wearing the charm you gave her.”

“I’m going to give her shit for that _forever_.” Charlie announces wetly. “Oh, God. Thank you, Meira. I thought-” She lets out a quiet sob.

“Don’t thank me.” Meira says quickly, feeling sick. “Shit, Charlie, it’s my fault you were even in danger in the first place, don’t-”

“No.” Charlie counters. “No, you and Sam and Dean, you guys _saved me_. The rest of it was all my own choice, and I’m not sorry. Do you have any idea how many people _I’ve_ had the chance to save, because of everything you’ve taught me? Donna’s _alive_ and _herself_ because of you. Thank you.”

Meira scrubs her sleeve across her eyes. “You’re welcome.” She says, her own voice going kind of thick with emotion. They talk for a little bit longer, about lighter things. Charlie tells her what lie she’s going to feed her parents about what happened to her, which is basically going to be more or less the truth, except she’s going to replace demons with satan-worshipping cult. Which, Meira thinks on a laugh, is actually just as much the truth as all the rest. Then Charlie hands the phone to Matt, and Meira gets to hear that he’s okay in his own voice, which is reassuring.

Then there’s nothing to do but while away the hours as they drive, so Meira lies down across the whole of the back seat and reads the battered second-hand paperback she’d left lying in the footwell… god, it was only a couple of weeks ago. She’d picked it up in a charity shop in Oregon, bought it and donated the one she’d just finished. It feels like a lifetime ago, somehow, since she last did this, since she last got a chance to relax in the back seat of the Impala.

* * *

**Jefferson City, Missouri – Tuesday 1 st  August 2006 **

Standing outside Sunrise Apartments, Meira takes a moment to pray that she’s doing the right thing, that she hasn’t ruined everything. If Granddad has an answer for her, she can’t tell what it is. “Pretty smart.” Dean comments disgustedly, staring across the road at the kids playing out front. “They could be possessing anyone, and we won’t know it.”

“Yeah, until they attack us.” Sam agrees grimly.

“And we can’t kill them.” Dean concludes, equally grim. “A building full of human shields.”

“I bet they know exactly what we look like, too.” Sam points out. “So how the hell are we going to get in?”

“I could go in.” Meira offers, already knowing she’s going to get shot down. Sam and Dean both turn to look at her. “They think I’m on their side, remember? I could go in, and they wouldn’t attack me. At least, not until I attacked them.”

Dean glances over at Sam, who stares back, lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you know where they’re keeping our dad?” He asks.

Meira grimaces. “No. If Megaera were here, she’d be able to tell. Demons can sense each other, but… I can’t do that.”

“And they’d expect you to show up with Megaera, or not at all.” Dean adds, and Meira nods a reluctant agreement. “So, yeah, no. We pull the fire alarm, get the civilians out.”

The plan goes exactly as her dad told her it had, and they sneak inside in their pilfered fireman uniforms, find the right apartment, and barge in with blessed fire hoses. Over the top of the screaming, Meira calls out “Niiso li Onsamir, ammali, oyi gohe Zire,” and with a crackling of holy light, the demons are both tossed from their vessels and back into the bowels of hell.

Meira leans over to check the woman sprawled out on the table, and finds a steady pulse in her neck just before her eyes flicker open. She gasps as unconsciousness gives way to terror, and Meira hurriedly tugs off her giant helmet. “Hey, hey, easy. You’re okay now.” She says soothingly.

“Wh- what- Oh, god, Frank!” The woman scrambles off the table, using Meira as support as she staggers and all but lunges to the unconscious man’s side, dropping to her knees on the floor without any care for herself.

“He’s fine, too.” Dean assures her from where he’s crouched beside Frank. “You’re both going to be okay, but you need to get the hell out of here, now.” He orders.

The woman looks up at him. “They- those things- they were supposed to be guarding someone-” She chokes out, pointing to a closed door off the main room of the apartment. Dean sucks in a sharp breath and rises to his feet at once. He takes one step, then growls under his breath and starts stripping off the fireman disguise. Meira does the same, but instead of following Sam and Dean over to the door, she joins the woman on the floor.

“Here.” She says, holding out one of her stupid business cards. “If anything like this ever happens to you again, give me a call, okay?” She prompts, and the woman takes the card like it’s a lifeline.

“Thank you.” She breathes, and then gets thoroughly distracted as Frank groans and starts coming around. Behind her, Meira can hear John Winchester’s groggy voice asking why Sam is pouring water on him, and she closes her eyes and calls herself ten kinds of idiot. She should have made sure that Sam and Dean were going to test for possession more thoroughly, but now they’re not going to believe her if she tries to push the issue.

Meira leaves the couple to get out on their own, and goes to join Sam and Dean. “Where’s the Colt?” is the first thing out of John’s mouth, and Meira is so damn glad when Sam doesn’t give him any specifics.

“You sure you should be untying him?” She asks, because she can’t _not_ try.

“He’s not possessed, it’s fine.” Dean assures her.

John’s eyes focus on her hazily, and then he struggles to sit up, pulling at his bonds. “You-!” He gasps out, slumping back down again when Dean pushes his shoulder with a yelp of surprise.

“Dad, stay still, or I’m gonna end up slicing _you_ up instead of the ropes.” Dean chides.

“Get- get away from her- You can’t- can’t trust her-!” John gasps out, panting like he’s been running a marathon. “You- whatever the hell- hell you are, you stay- away from- from my- my boys-!” He tries to growl it threateningly, but it doesn’t really work as the exhaustion catches up to him and his eyes roll back in his head, unconsciousness sweeping back over him.

Meira’s eyebrows fly up. Either Azazel is a _really_ good actor, or maybe… just _maybe_ , she’s managed to change enough that they did actually get here before Azazel arrived to possess John? Could she really have managed that? She doesn’t think she can afford to hope, but she does anyway.

They head out the back of the apartment complex, rather than brave the crowds at the front. Meira thinks that might have been a better idea, get John to a hospital where Azazel will be less able to move about without suspicion, but Sam and Dean are back to eyeing her with wariness after John’s little outburst, so she doesn’t argue when they head for the back door. Of course, she wishes she had when Sam gets tackled out of nowhere.

She lunges forward, bowling the guy off Sam with a tackle of her own. “Niiso li-” She begins, struggling against the demon, but the next thing she knows, she’s flying through the air and hitting a wall so hard that she can actually _feel_ the back of her skull cracking like an eggshell. For one terrifying moment, as she crumples, her grace fails to respond properly, and the world starts to go black around the edges. Panic claws up her throat, because she can heal from a lot of things, a slit throat or a broken neck, but she’s not _just_ an angel, who is an entirely separate entity from their vessel, and is entirely unaffected by bodily injury. She’s human, too, and if her body dies, _she_ dies.

Oh, sure, she’ll probably go to heaven and become an angel for real or something, but… it won’t be the same. _She_ won’t be the same. And that’s not even considering what the binding might do, if she dies. With her grace bound, _could_ she even get to heaven, or would she be trapped in her dead body, bound to rotting meat for the rest of eternity.

The thought makes her retch, and she _pushes_ at her grace with ferocity borne of pure, blind, panic. Agony spears through her as the bindings react, but it’s enough, it’s just enough to remind her grace what it’s supposed to be doing, and she can feel the blood draining out of all the places it’s not supposed to be, shattered bone snapping back into place. Her vision clears up a bit, less dark and more just wobbly, and she throws up again. Nothing comes up but bile.

Meira wonders, dizzily, when the last time she ate was. Yesterday morning. She recalls. Before Megaera phoned to demand the Colt, while she was going through all those dumb files looking for something she already knew how to find. Too long, really. Nearly thirty-six hours, by now.

A gunshot shatters her meandering thoughts, and she jerks her head up, only to have the world loop and spin around her for a moment before her grace surges and everything snaps back into its rightful place. Dean is hauling Sam up with one hand, the Colt in the other. He glances over at her, but when he sees her staggering to her feet under her own power, he just nods and beelines for where he left their dad slumped against a wall.

Meira tries not to panic at the thought of the Colt being so close to what is possibly Azazel, and rushes over to help. “Here, let me. You help Sam.” She says. It takes Dean a moment to nod, but he does, despite John’s mumbled ‘no’. Meira hauls him up, slinging one of his arms over her shoulders and supporting most of his weight herself. She’d rather just carry him entirely, but she’s pretty sure that, John or Azazel, it would be too much for their pride to endure, so she lets him have the pretence of moving under his own power.

* * *

**Middle of Nowhere, Missouri – Tuesday 1 st  August 2006 **

They break into a cabin in the middle of the woods, and Sam and Meira set about demon-proofing the place while Dean gets John settled. While Sam lines every window and door with salt, Meira scans the cabin, trying to remember if her dad ever told her where the confrontation happened. By a window, she thinks, but which one? She can’t be sure, and she probably doesn’t have time to draw two, not if she wants to make it strong enough to hold a Prince of Hell.

She picks the main window, because even if she’s wrong, at least there’s more chance of baiting Azazel into it than if she draws it in the corner of the little kitchenette. Taking inspiration from Bobby, she drags a chair over and draws the thing on the ceiling, as large as she can make it without wasting time shuffling the chair around. She’s still not done by the time Dean comes back, reporting that their dad is resting. “How are you?” He asks Sam.

“I’ll survive.” Sam assures him.

There’s a beat of silence. “Meira?” Dean asks. Meira glances down at him expectantly, and he raises his eyebrows. “You hit your head pretty hard back there. You were throwing up and everything. You alright?” He checks.

“Little woozy.” Meira lies, pulling up a wry smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure you should be up there with a concussion?” Sam asks, ambling over. Then he blinks. “Wait, are you drawing that in _blood_?” He demands.

“Yeah?” Meira confirms, going back to her work.

“Holy _crap_ , I’m sure we could have found you a freaking marker!” Dean bursts out.

Meira grins a little to herself. “Probably, but it’s more powerful this way.” She explains. “Megaera and that other one, they were powerful, and they _answer_ to this guy. They call him _Father_. He’s something fucking nasty, so I’m not taking any chances. The strongest devil’s trap I know of, in the most powerful medium I can get my hands on.” She lifts the wrist that she made the cut on to demonstrate exactly what she means, even though she’s sure she doesn’t need to.

“Christ.” Dean mutters, relenting, and then he and Sam fall into a discussion of strategy, about whether they were followed and any other precautions they can take. Meira finishes up the trap and goes into the kitchen to get a rag to wrap around her arm, since she’s not going to be able to heal this one.

“Hey, Sam?” Dean says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“You know that guy I shot? There was a person in there.”

Meira grimaces, and wonders if she should be trying to blend into the walls right about now. She’s so uncertain of what her place is right now, and she can’t tell whether her input into this conversation would be welcome or not.

“You didn’t have a choice, Dean.” Sam insists softly.

“Yeah, I did.” Dean corrects, and glances over to catch Meira’s eye. “It just wasn’t a choice I could live with.” He makes a noise, that little not-a-laugh sound that still manages to make Meira feel vaguely sick, and looks away again. “The things I’m willing to do for my family, the people I’d kill without a second thought to keep you or Dad safe, Sammy… it scares me, sometimes.”

This isn’t a side of her dad that Meira’s ever seen before. She supposes that’s not a surprise. It’s not the sort of thing you’d lay on your child if you could help it. It’s slightly baffling, though, if she’s honest with herself. Unnerving, too, but… She’s never been under any illusions that her entire family will turn themselves into monsters for each other. It’s never scared her before, and she doubts it ever will. When the biggest monsters are your guardians, you’re the safest person in the world. How could she ever be scared of her own family?

“It shouldn’t.”

Meira maybe jumps out of her freaking skin at John’s voice, all too aware that there’s a good chance it’s _not John_ in there. She reaches instinctively for her blade at the thought of a Prince of Hell that close, and of course, agony spikes through her. She grunts in pain, staggers, and is caught by large hands. “Meira?” Sam asks from right beside her.

“Mother _fucker_ , make some noise when you walk!” She accuses John.

John gives her a scathing look. “The hell’s she still doing here?” He demands.

“ _Helping_.” Meira retorts.

John scoffs. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” He tells her, and then entirely dismisses her to refocus on Dean. “It shouldn’t scare you.” He repeats, more firmly. “You did good.”

Dean blinks. “You’re not mad?” He asks, flicking one quick glance in Meira’s direction.

John almost laughs. “For that?” He asks, jerking his head in Meira’s direction. “More than a bit, and you can be sure we’ll be having a conversation about that _later._ ” When Meira isn’t around to eavesdrop, she assumes he means. Then he shakes his head. “But the rest of it? Why would I be?”

“I used one of the bullets.”

John shakes his head, not quite smiling, but something close to it lingering around the corners of his mouth. “I’m proud of you.” He says corrects quietly. “You know, Sam and I, we can get pretty obsessed, but you? You watch out for this family. You always have.”

Dean swallows. “Thanks.”

That’s when the light starts to flicker above their heads, because of course it is. Right when the person holding the Colt is feeling all emotionally vulnerable. Sam and Dean and John all rush to the windows, the _wrong_ window, unfortunately, but Meira stays where she is, standing loose and at the ready and watching John like a hawk. “It found us.” He says, peering out into the night as the wind begins to howl outside. “It’s here.”

“The demon.” Sam breathes, some strained mixture of fear and excitement lacing his tone.

“Sam, Meira, lines of salt in front of every window, every door.” John orders sharply.

“I already did it.”

“Well, check it, okay?” John prompts impatiently.

“Yes, sir.” Sam says, and goes to do exactly that.

Meira stays right where she is. “Well?” John demands, glaring at her.

“You don’t need two people to check the salt lines.” Meira tells him dryly, and then smiles a bullshit smile. “And you don’t want me checking them anyway. What if I messed with them, huh?”

John glares at her. “Dean, you got the gun?” He asks, without actually taking his eyes off Meira.

“Yeah.” Dean says.

John nods once, approval flickering into his expression, and he holds out his hand towards Dean. “Give it to me.” He orders.

Dean fishes the gun out of the waistband of his jeans obediently. Meira opens her mouth to warn him, but Dean hesitates before she even manages to draw breath. “Please tell me you’re not planning to shoot Meira.” He says, but there’s something about his tone that rings odd in Meira’s ears.

John scoffs. “I wouldn’t waste a bullet on her. Give it to me, now.” He barks out. Dean takes a careful step back out of John’s grabbing range, staring at John like he’s only just now seeing him properly for the first time. “What are you doing, Dean?” John demands. Or, well, Meira thinks it’s safe to say that’s not John, if Dean is getting suspicious.

Dean raises the gun and points it squarely at John. “You’re not my dad.”

“Of course I am.” Azazel retorts.

Dean not-laughs, and Meira wishes with everything she is that she could pull her angel blade right now. She really, really doesn’t like standing here without a weapon capable of killing something that’s scaring her dad that much. “I know my dad better than anyone. And you ain’t him.” Dean states.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?”

“Could ask you the same thing.” Dean retorts softly. “You know, Meira warned us.”

“You’re going to listen to the demon’s _spy_ over your own father?” Azazel demands, just as Sam returns, getting two steps into the room before he freezes as the tableau in front of him registers. “Sam, would you talk some sense into your brother?”

Sam’s eyes flicker between them. “Dean?” He asks carefully. “What’s going on?”

“Meira was right. Dad’s possessed.” Dean tells him shortly.

“But we tested him.” Sam says uncertainly. “How can you be sure?”

“Exactly.” Azazel agrees.

“You want a fucking _list_ of all the ways you fucked up, you son of a bitch?” Dean bites out, the fury in his voice not doing anything to hide the ragged, wounded edge of it. “For one thing, my dad would _never_ be that chill about a potential threat. ‘We’ll talk about it later’?” He scoffs. “He’d tear me a new one for bringing her with us, not to mention for using a bullet. He wouldn’t be proud of me, he’d be _pissed_.”

“For fuck’s sake, we don’t have _time_ for this, Dean.” Azazel barks, then draws in what’s clearly supposed to be a calming breath. “Sam, you wanna kill this demon, you’ve gotta trust me.”

Sam stares at his father for a long, painful moment. Then shakes his head, rapid and jerky. “No.” He breathes, backing up to Dean’s side. “I don’t know why the holy water didn’t work, but Dean’s right. You’re not our dad.”

Azazel looks between them in disappointed betrayal. “Fine.” He says, lips trembling ever so faintly. It’s a nice touch, Meira thinks. “You’re both so sure? Go ahead. Kill me.”

“Or I could just…” Meira begins, and then switches languages. “Faonts aqlo ar zizop ma’onsa, od-” Meira begins, and is promptly hurled across the room by a wave of force. “- _od noan li_ -” She chokes out, her grace flaring to fight the pressure squeezing tight around her throat. The next thing she knows she’s being gagged by the rag she’d been using to stem the bleeding of her arm.

Azazel tuts at her, smiling crooked and _wrong_ with John’s mouth as he lifts his head from where it had dropped to his chest, showing sulphur-yellow eyes, mottled and blazing with wrath. Across the room, both Sam and Dean have been pinned to the wall as well, and Azazel stoops to scoop up the Colt where it fell to the floor. “What a pain in the ass this thing’s been.”

Meira tries to spit out the rag and make a snarky comment about that, but Azazel is far too powerful, and no matter what she tries, the rag stays jammed firmly between her teeth. She’s reduced to watching, pinned and _helpless_ as Azazel taunts and gloats. She’s been getting used to being less powerful, here in the past, but this _galls_. She’s tempted to push against the binding, just to _prove_ to Azazel that he can’t just toss her about like this and get away with it, can’t _threaten her family_ and get away with it, but she reminds herself firmly that she’ll be no use to anyone later if she fucks up and gets herself broken or killed now.

“You let him go.” Dean hisses at Azazel. “Or I swear to God-”

“What? What are you and _God_ going to do?” Azazel sneers. Meira catches Dean’s eye and gives him a significant look, because she’s not the only one who knows an Enochian exorcism or two here. Dean looks back for a second, then refocuses on Azazel as he continues to talk. “See, as far as I’m concerned, this is _justice_.” He hisses. “You know that little exorcism of yours? That was my daughter.”

“Megaera?” Dean asks.

“The one you _killed_ in that alley? That was my boy.”

Meira can’t help the sound of understanding that manages to slip out past the gag, muffled but understandable enough, given the tone. She’d wondered why, with just how cut-throat she knew Hell to be, Azazel and his team would claim such close bonds, but the way he’d said that made the pieces click into place. Megaera and Tom had, once upon a time, when they were alive, been just like Sam and Max. Azazel’s _special children_.

Azazel looks around at her, eyebrows raised. “Ah, you understand now, do you?” He asks, sauntering away from Dean and towards Meira. It’s a struggle not to glance at the devil’s trap on the ceiling. “I’d let you explain it to them, but I can’t risk you exorcising me.” He tells her, mild as milk if it wasn’t for the nasty little smirk curling John’s lips.

“Niiso i etharzi od pa’aox il Onsamir.” Dean begins, blurting the words out in a rush, and Azazel whirls on him, contorting John’s face into an expression of fury. “Oyi-” Dean chokes, gags, and then _screams._ Meira makes a muffled sound of denial and rage, shoving her grace against the bindings, until it _burns_ , fighting to free herself enough to _murder_ this motherfucker.

“Now, _you_ , I have no trouble gagging _permanently_.” Azazel tells him ominously, stalking back towards him. “What should it be, do you think? Should I rip out your tongue? Or your vocal chords entirely? Maybe I should just crush your windpipe, make your brother and father watch, _helpless,_ as you die gasping, just like you made _me_ watch.”

The ominous little click of the Colt being cocked makes Azazel turn, and he finds himself eye to eye with the barrel of the Colt. “ _Let. Him. Go._ ” Sam grits out through a clenched jaw, every muscle in his body standing out, taut and straining to maintain his wavering control on the gun hovering in midair.

“Oh, well _done_ , Sammy.” Azazel says, grinning slow and lopsided. “Alright.” He says lightly, and Dean’s strangled shout of pain tapers off into ragged, gasping breaths. “Even though we both know you’re not going to shoot me.” He says, and it’s so confident it’s almost chiding, like an indulgent father reminding a kid that they can’t actually fly. “Not while I’m wearing this face.”

The Colt dips and wobbles, and for a moment, Meira thinks Sam might actually do it, but then Dean rasps out, “Sam,” and the gun drops to the floor with a clatter. Sam slumps back against the wall, panting, and a drop of blood drips out of his nose.

Azazel chuckles. “Don’t strain yourself there, Sammy.” He taunts.

Sam grunts, then closes his eyes. “Is that why?” He asks, in an angry, resigned tone.

Azazel pauses in bending down to pick up the Colt, and looks back up at Sam. “Why what?” He asks, slowly standing up straight again, the Colt still at his feet.

“The- the psychic thing, is that why you…” Sam chokes up, unable to finish the question.

Understanding dawns on Azazel’s face, and he starts smirking again. “Killed your mom and pretty little Jess?” He finishes for Sam, who nods, short and sharp, lips twisted into a sneer of pure loathing. “Well, I won’t say it’s not part of the plan.” He muses.

“What plan?” Dean demands, voice still hoarse from whatever Azazel had done to him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Azazel retorts, tipping his head to give Dean a mocking grin.

Dean smirks right back, dark and angry. “Nah, doesn’t really matter. After all, you’re gonna die soon, just like your kid back there.”

Azazel’s smug expression falters, and he rounds on Dean. A ragged cry tears out of Dean’s throat that immediately becomes wet as he begins heaving and coughing up blood. “Dean!” Sam shouts, and the table the Colt had been sitting on suddenly flips over, toppling sideways and crashing into Azazel, sending him staggering. For just a heartbeat, the pressure on Meira vanishes, and she lunges. She’s not the only one.

Meira grabs Azazel by the back of John’s jacket and hurls him bodily towards the window, while Sam dives on the Colt, rolls, and comes up aiming it right at John. Azazel glares at him, but when it has no effect besides getting a smirk out of Sam, he jerks a step back. He looks down, looks up, and _snarls_ at what he sees there, transferring his glare to Meira, who finishes spitting the taste of old kitchen rag and blood out of her mouth to smile beatifically at him. “Signum dei vivi.” She tells him smugly. “It’d take someone stronger even than you to get out of that.”

Sam glances at her. “The symbol of the living god?”

“It’s the strongest devil’s trap I know.” Meira tells him.

Sam nods, and then looks over to Dean. “Dean, you okay?” He checks.

“I’ll be fine.” Dean gets out, although he doesn’t sound very convincing. Meira hurries over to Dean’s side, where he’s sitting at the bottom of the wall he’d been pined to, breathing raggedly. She can’t see any obvious injuries, but given the way he’d been coughing up blood, chances are the damage is all on the inside.

“You’d really spill that much blood for these two?” Azazel asks, drawing her attention back to him. He sounds incredulous and faintly disgusted.

Meira stares at him, hating him and hating that she almost pities him for the fact that he needed to ask that question at all. “Wouldn’t you?” She asks, even though she knows the answer is no. And that makes her angry, makes her miss the demons she knows, or will know, in the future who _would_ bleed for their family, for _her_ family, because they were one and the same. Azazel just stares at her, entirely thrown by her question, and Meira scoffs. “Bleed for your family, for your ‘children’?”

Something like triumph flashes in Azazel’s eyes as he starts to grin. “You know I would.” He drawled, chuckling darkly. “I’d bleed for every single one of them.” Meira wrinkles her nose at the bad pseudo-pun, which only makes Azazel laugh again and shake his head. “Oh, put the gun down, Sammy. Everyone knows you’re not going to kill me when it means killing your daddy.”

“True.” Sam agrees, lowering the gun. “Niiso i etharzi, ammal, od yinay ma doal.” He recites carefully, and Azazel’s good humour falls away at once. “Oyi gohe Zire.” On the last word, holy light crackles through John’s body, and black smoke pours out of his mouth, coiling and writhing through the air with nowhere to go. John staggers, stumbling towards the edge of the devil’s trap and then more or less _falling_ over the outer edge, dropping to his knees but managing to catch himself before he hits the floor. Sam hurries over to him and moves to support him.

John bares his teeth, accepting the support, but not looking happy about it in the least. “Should’ve just shot me.” He says, voice thick and agonised. “We _had it._ We could’ve _ended_ this, Sammy, why didn’t you just _shoot me_?!”

Sam stares at him for a long moment, then shakes his head and hauls his dad’s arm over his shoulders. “We need to get out of here.” He says, glancing back at the smoke still held contained by the devil’s trap, and smirking. “We can come back later to deal with it. Right now, you and Dean need a hospital.”

This is it, Meira thinks as she turns to offer her back to Dean. “Think you’ve got enough strength left in you to hold on?” She asks.

“A piggyback? Really?” Dean demands, voice weak enough that it sends a tremor through Meira.

“It’s this or a princess carry, dude. Don’t think I won’t.” She threatens with false cheer. Dean makes a disgusted noise, but manages to get his arms around Meira’s shoulders so that she can haul him up onto her back, and then shove herself back to her feet. Sam flashes Meira a brief, tight little smile, and then heads for the door.

They pile into the Impala, pouring John and Dean into the back seat. “I’ll drive.” Meira says to Sam, since she’s the one fishing the keys out of Dean’s pockets.

“No.” John says through gritted teeth. “Sam, you drive.”

Meira rolls her eyes. “ _Christ_ , what the hell do you think I’m going to do, drive you all over a cliff or some shit?!”

“Haven’t ruled out that possibility yet.” John replies.

Meira just barely refrains from slamming the Impala’s door, and only because she has more respect for the car than that. “Gimme the keys.” Sam sighs. Meira stares at him for a moment, startled. “Now isn’t the time for this fight, so let’s just… let him have his way, alright?” Sam prompts.

“Why does there need to be a fight at all, it’s not like he could stop me.” Meira points out.

Sam’s eyes narrow slightly. “Why do you want to drive so badly?” He challenges.

Meira gapes at him, but there’s nothing she can say. There’s no explanation she can give that won’t simply raise more questions. Any protest she makes will only cement the mistrust already clear in Sam’s challenging stare.

And she’s being selfish again. It doesn’t matter if they trust her or not if she can save them from losing their dad. “Because fuck John Winchester with a red hot poker, that’s why.” She says, and gets into the driver’s seat and guns the engine. Sam gets into the passenger seat, but he’s frowning at her as she peels out onto the road and floors the gas pedal.

“Meira…” He says slowly. “What’s gotten into you?”

Meira glares out the windscreen, feeding grace into her eyes until she can pick out details here and there in the scenery blurring past, despite the dark. “Your dad’s a suicidal jerk, Dean’s _vomiting up blood_ , I haven’t eaten in over forty hours, and we just exorcised a bunch of pretty powerful demons’ _father_. I don’t have the time or the fucking _patience_ to put up with John’s paranoia boner. There’s nothing I can _do_ to convince him I’m not-” She chokes on a bitter laugh. “-not the devil incarnate, so I’m done even fucking _trying_. Screw him.”

“You know what?” John begins from the back. “You haven’t even _tried_ to prove you’re not in league with the demon, so I don’t know why you expect me to trust you.”

Meira slams one hand into the steering wheel. “I _haven’t_ tried?! Was inventing a whole new ritual to kill unkillable demon-gods not enough? Was _saving Meg’s life_ not enough? Was spilling _literal blood_ to help you trap your fucking revenge-boner jerk-off buddy _not enough_?!”

“Oh, you’ve made a good show of it, I’m not denying that, but it’s funny, isn’t it, how none of the demons we’ve hunted with you end up where they’re supposed to be.”

Outrage nearly steals Meira’s tongue. “Okay, I took responsibility for Megaera, I screwed up, I admit it, but don’t you pin _this_ on-”

The headlights appear so suddenly that if Meira didn’t know that demons can’t actually teleport without being summoned or being _really_ high up on the food chain, that’s what she would have thought happened. She hits the breaks as hard as she dares without losing control and turns the Impala away from the oncoming truck. She nearly gets past it, but the truck swerves towards them, and before Meira can compensate, it clips the rear end of the Impala and sends it spinning in a screech of tyres and burning rubber.

Before Meira can regain control, they hit something else, and the Impala flips right over. Everything is chaos for several terrifying seconds as they tumble over and over, before a sturdy tree old tree and a crunch of folding metal and shattering glass brings everything to a sudden, jarring stop.


End file.
